The Other One
by JiffyKate
Summary: Two strangers struggling from day to day. One trying to overcome the past while the other hides behind it. Will they be able to trust one another enough to share their secrets and accept the truth despite what they've been through?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"So, tell me, Edward. Why do you want to work here?"

I keep my gaze on my fingers, willing my nerves to settle. I've been practicing and preparing for this interview for days. I know what I need to say. I just need to do it.

_I can do this._

Taking a deep breath, I slowly look up and find Mr. Whitlock watching me, waiting for me to answer. I'm still not comfortable with a lot of eye contact, so I avert my eyes and focus on his pale blue bow tie. Mr. Whitlock is probably, at the most, a decade older than me, but he dresses like the southern gentlemen of my parents' childhood. The seersucker suit he's wearing perfectly complements his bow tie, with the only oddity to his outfit being the scuffed-up cowboy boots on his feet. He seems like a patient guy as he sits, calmly waiting for my answer, which is good for me, but still, I don't want to piss him off and ruin my chances of getting this job.

_I can do this._

"I…I like the atmosphere here. It's busy, but not overwhelming." I pause, wondering if that was the wrong thing to say. Maybe I should clarify that bright lights and loud noises sometimes mess with my head? No, I'd rather not elaborate, because I don't want him to think I can't do the job. I can. I will. I need this.

_I can do this. _

"The location is great. My school's just around the corner, and the business hours work well with my class schedule. Oh, and I really like the food."

"Oh, yeah?" Mr. Whitlock smiles at me, and I think I've distracted him from my first comment. Besides, it never hurts to compliment your maybe-future employer, right?

"What's your favorite dish here?"

This time my answer needs no rehearsing. "The shrimp and grits, hands down."

"Excellent!" Mr. Whitlock claps his hands together, chuckling. "That's my favorite, too. Just don't go tellin' my wife I said that. It was her idea to start selling that dish, and I didn't want to because I knew it didn't have a snowball's chance in hell to succeed. Turns out, it's one of our top sellers! She loves to rub it in that she was right and I was wrong, and believe me, I give her plenty of reasons to gloat."

My body slowly relaxes with the feeling the interview is going well, and I'm able to give an easy, natural smile.

_I can do this._

"Well, Edward, I think you'll do just fine here at Crescent Moon," he says, standing from his chair. "Follow me and I'll introduce you to some of the staff, and then you can fill out your paperwork and give your school schedule to Kate. She's the office manager here, so she'll get you hooked up."

"Does this mean you're hiring me, Mr. Whitlock?"

"Damn straight it does! And please call me Jasper. You're part of the family now!" Mr. Whitlock—Jasper—gives a hearty slap to my back before opening his office door and ushering me out.

_I can do this. No, wait. I did it. Holy shit, I did it!_

Kate is a nice older lady with thickly-drawn eyebrows and the longest fingernails I've ever seen. I don't know how she's able to type my information into the café's computer system so quickly, but she does, and I'm grateful. I'm starting to feel tired, the stress of the day catching up with me. I'm afraid it's the perfect storm for a migraine, and I don't want to be here if one hits. I don't get them as often as I used to, but when they come, they come on strong, and I'm pretty much useless for the rest of the day—confined to my apartment with the shades drawn and a blanket over my head.

Handing my pre-written class schedule to Kate, I focus on her eyebrows instead of her eyes. I don't mean to be rude, but meeting new people makes me self-conscious. I have trouble looking them in the eye, always worried that they see the scar before they see me, and the last thing I want to do is answer questions. I suck at answering questions.

We set up a time for me to come in tomorrow after my classes for training, and Kate tells me I'll have my work schedule by then as well. I meet Jasper in the kitchen, and he introduces me to the cooks and servers, who are preparing to start the lunch shift. I try to concentrate and think of something that will help me remember their names, but I know it's futile. So I give a small wave as each of them glances up from their work, hoping in time I'll somehow fit in here.

"Edward, I'll see you tomorrow at two for your training," Jasper says, officially dismissing me.

"Yes, sir. I'll be here."

His smile is genuine as he nods his head my way before turning and addressing the rest of the staff. "Alright, team. Let's look alive out there! We're officially open. It's lunch time, and the fine people of New Orleans are ready to be fed! Y'all have a great shift, and work your asses off!"

For a second, I'm reminded of how it used to feel to get pep talks from my high school coach in the locker room. I guess working in a restaurant is a lot like playing football or any sport, really. You have to work together as a team to reach your goal. It's been a while since I've been on any kind of team, and I'm filled with dread at the thought of letting even more people down.

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><p>"<em>When you get out there, remember you're a team," Coach Clapp begins. "And there's no 'I' in team! We win together, and we lose together! If we want it bad enough, we're gonna get it! So, you get out there and play like the champions I know you are! I want your best! You got me?" he yells, his voice getting louder and louder with each statement, until the vein in his forehead is about to pop out with the last question. <em>

"_WE GOT YOU!" we all reply in unison. _

"_WHO ARE WE?" he yells. _

"_SPARTANS!" _

"_WHO ARE WE?" _

"_SPARTANS!" _

"_WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO?" _

"_WIN!"_

_Before that last word is out of our mouths, I take off running, leading the guys down the tunnel. The moment the door opens, the blinding lights from the stadium are all I can see, until I set my focus on the fifty yard line. The crowd is chanting, "SPARTANS, SPARTANS, SPARTANS." _

_I'm acutely aware that this is the game—the one that my future is riding on. There are scouts here from several colleges, including Tulane, and depending upon our performance tonight, a few of us may get scholarship offers. We gotta do this for us, for our school, and for Coach Clapp. He's always been there for us, and we can't let him down now._

"_Cullen?"_

"_Yes, Coach?"_

"_This is your game, son. This is where a boy becomes a man. I know you've got it in you, so let's bring it home." He nods with confidence, adjusts his headset, and walks away. He's always had confidence in me. Since the day I stepped onto his field as a Sophomore, he's made me feel like I can accomplish anything. _

_Jogging up and down the sidelines to warm my muscles up, I squint my eyes, trying to see past the bright Friday night lights. I glance up to the middle section and see my mom and dad sitting in their usual spots. My mom gives a little wave, not wanting to embarrass me, and my dad gives me a nod, similar to Coach Clapp's, letting me know I've got this, because he believes in me too._

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><p>The bell on the front door chimes as the first customer of the day walks in, and I'm thankful for the distraction.<p>

As I walk from the kitchen to the front of the café, movement to my left catches my attention. I watch as a young woman slides into a booth, all the way inside, as if she's making room for someone to sit next to her. Her eyes never leave the window, and I can't help but stand there and stare at her.

A throat clearing behind me makes me jump, and I don't know if I should feel relieved or embarrassed to see Jasper standing next to me.

"She's a regular," he tells me, looking over at the same girl. "She comes in every Thursday and sits in the same booth but never orders anything or says anything. We just leave her be."

"Okay." It seems like a strange thing for a young lady to do, but I'm sure she has her reasons, and to be honest, I'm happy to know I'll have at least one easy customer.

_I can do this._

As I head for the front door, I give my future customer one more glance. I'm not prepared for the moment our eyes meet. My body freezes in shock—not just because she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and we just made eye contact, but also because I don't think I've ever seen eyes as sad as hers.

I quickly turn away, averting my eyes to the floor and forcing my feet to walk. My heart is beating fast, and my palms feel sweaty. I've gotta get out of here before I make a complete fool of myself.

_I can't do this._

Pushing my way out of the door, I'm so distracted I don't hear my phone ringing in my pocket. The vibration from the voicemail is what pulls me out of my trance. When I finally dig it out, I'm not surprised to see it's my mom calling. I quickly dial her number, not waiting to listen to her message first.

"Edward? Is this a bad time? Did I interrupt your interview?"

"Hey, Mom. No, I'm done and on my way home. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing is…_up_, really. I was just wondering how your day is going…" she hedges.

I love my mother. She's fiercely protective and my biggest cheerleader. I know she babies me more than she should, but I allow it because it makes her happy. I can tell she's dying to know how my interview with Jasper went, but she's trying to respect my boundaries and let me do things in my own way. This means more to me than I can ever explain.

"My day's been great. I finished my homework for the week, got a job, got my haircut. You know, same ol' same ol'," I say, waiting to see how long it takes her to realize what I've just said. Of course, it doesn't take her very long.

"You got the job? Oh, son. I knew it! I'm so proud of you!"

Even though we're speaking on the phone, her words still make me blush.

"Thanks, Mom."

"This calls for a celebration! Would you like to go out or eat in?" she asks.

"Let's stay in tonight, if that's okay." Part of me wants to celebrate—not just for my new job but to also thank my family for everything they've done to help me get to this milestone. The other part of me can't stop thinking about the young woman with sad eyes. Somehow it doesn't seem fair that I should have fun when she's all alone.

"Of course it is! I'm sure Rose won't mind us getting together over there. Now, what about the food? Is there something special you'd like for me to cook, or would you rather I pick up something?"

It only takes me a few seconds before I know exactly what I want: Louisiana Pizza Kitchen. Best pizza in New Orleans, no doubt about it.

My mom doesn't even let me answer; she already knows. "Do you want a fried oyster pizza or a jambalaya pizza?" she asks with a giggle.

"Both, please."

"I don't know why I asked. I knew you'd say that! I'll call your sister and pick up the pizzas on the way over there. Are you walking, or do you have your bike?"

"I'm walking," I answer.

"Well, be careful, Edward. If you get tired, hop on the streetcar."

"I'm fine, Mama. I'm almost home anyway. I'll see you when you get here."

As soon as I hang up and slide my phone into my pocket, my mind is on the sad girl again. I wonder if she'll talk to me…if I'll ever know her name. It's pretty obvious I'll be thinking about her a lot, so I think I'll give her a nickname—something to call her in my head, not to her face. Something other than "the sad girl from the café".

I rack my brain for a name that suits her, but nothing comes to mind. My hands begin to tremble, and my breaths become shallow—clear signals my temper is about to get the best of me. It's very frustrating for me when I can't recall information as easily as I used to. I _know_ I know what I'm trying to think of, but it's just not coming to me.

Thinking back to the coping skills I've learned recently, I close my eyes and focus on slowing my breathing. _In through the nose, out through the mouth, and repeat._ After a minute or two of deep breathing, I think over my list of favorite things: reading, pizza and sweet tea, fishing with my dad, playing with my niece and nephew, my mother's laugh, playing cards, jazz music…

When I open my eyes, I realize I've been standing against a street sign for well over ten minutes. I don't see anyone on the sidewalk, so I'm hopeful no one saw my almost-tantrum. I can just imagine Old Mrs. Devereaux finding me and asking if I need her to pray for me. Hell, maybe I _do_ need her to pray for me. I should probably say a prayer to St. Jude right now, seeing as he's the Saint of Desperation.

Inspiration hits and I will my brain to recall as many of the saints I learned about in Catholic school as possible. I know Mary is sometimes called Our Lady of Sorrow… Should I call her Mary? No, that name's too common for this girl. _No offense, Blessed Mother._

As I cross the street and walk to my sister's house, I remember that Saint Rita is the Patron Saint of Healing of Wounds and also of Loneliness. I'm not sure why the girl seemed to be so sad, but being wounded or lonely could certainly be possibilities. "Rita" doesn't seem to fit her either, and I'm back at square one.

I've just about resigned myself to the fact I'll never think of the perfect name and that I've just wasted at least thirty minutes on this issue when one of my favorite subjects pops into my head: mythology. The girl in the café is just like The Algea, spirits of pain and suffering. But which one should I name her? There are three of them, I remember. Lupe, Achus, and…

A smile splits my face as I recall the Algea spirit of grief, distress, sorrow, and trouble. _Yes, it's perfect—unique and beautiful, just like the girl._

Until I know her real name, I'm going to call her "Ania".

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><p><strong>AN:**

**Jiff: **Hey, y'all! We're so excited to finally share this story with you! We've been working on it for a while and were just too impatient to wait any longer!

**Jenny Kate: **Impatient? Us? I don't think anyone has ever said that about us before. ;) Excitement isn't the only emotion we're feeling right now. We're also nervous. It's probably a combination of this being a new story and the attention that it's already had. But, ultimately, we're really looking forward to sharing this story with y'all!

**Jiff**: It's going to be hard to discuss this story without giving away clues, so if we're evasive in our review replies, forgive us!

**Jenny Kate**: And although we can't give anything away, that doesn't mean we don't want to hear your theories and questions! Hit us with whatever you've got in the reviews!

We'd like to thank The Lemonade Stand for doing a Sneak Peek for this story last Sunday on their blog! We really appreciate all of the lovely ladies over there, Nic, Six, and Kim - you're awesome! If you don't frequent TLS, you definitely should stop by. They always have FABULOUS fic rec's and reviews. (www . tehlemonadestand . blogspot . com - remove the spaces and leave "the" misspelled)

Also, The FicSisters, at The International House of Fanfic, did a pitch for our story this morning! There's a special Chapter 2 teaser posted over there, along with a little insight into the story. So, be sure to stop by and check it out, along with their vast supply of fic rec's and links! (www . ficsisters . com - remove the spaces)

A MASSIVE thank you to our fantastic beta, GeekChic12, and our wonderful pre-readers, Katie Boberg, Amy Viar, and Lynzylee! Any leftover mistakes are our own. This story wouldn't be what it is without them!

We'll be posting every Friday! Hope to see y'all then!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Now that I've decided on a nickname for the sad girl in the café, I feel relieved and better suited to celebrate my new job with my family. Even the beginnings of my headache from earlier are gone. For a moment, I wonder if I should make a quick trip to my place and change into clothes that are more comfortable than the slacks, button-down shirt, and tie combo I'm wearing now, but I ultimately decide against it. It's not like I live very far. I stay in the apartment above my sister and brother-in-law's garage. But I know if I walk over there now, I'll probably get distracted by something, like a book or video game, and forget all about the party. No way am I gonna let that happen. This get-together tonight is as much for my family as it is for me; I wouldn't have even gone to the interview without their love and support nudging me along the way.

I walk into the house without knocking, knowing I'm expected, and spot two of my most favorite people in the whole world: Maggie and Ben McCarty. My niece and nephew are the coolest three year-olds, and the fact that they're twins only makes them more special. It amazes me how Maggie is the spitting image of her dad, Emmett, with dark wavy hair and dimples so big they could hold a marble inside, while Ben looks just like my sister, Rosalie. Well, he looks more like Rose did before she started dying her hair blonde. They share the same ice-blue eyes, courtesy of my dad, but Ben's hair is more of a coppery-brown like mine and my mom's. Genetics are fascinating.

When the kids see me, I squat down, and they immediately run into my arms, knocking me flat on my ass. All three of us are laughing when Rose steps into the living room.

"You're here!" she exclaims, clapping her hands together. "A little birdie told me you have some exciting news!"

"I know Mom's already called and told you I got the job, Rose. It's not that big of a deal," I say, knowing how false my words are.

"Edward Cullen, it _is_ a big deal!" Rose scolds.

I push myself off the floor and onto my feet. "Well, I wouldn't have gotten the job if you hadn't helped."

"I merely suggested to Jasper that he interview you; I didn't make him hire you. Besides, I know too many embarrassing stories involving Jasper Whitlock. There's no way he'd ever go against me," she says with a laugh before pulling me into a fierce hug and whispering, "I'm so damn proud of you."

Like my mother, Rosalie's very protective of me—almost to the point of smothering me. I don't mind, though. I've put her and the rest of our family through hell, so if she wants to make a big fuss over me, I'll let her, even though she's the one who hooked me up with a job working for one of her closest friends from college.

That's what families do, I guess.

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><p>"<em>Edward Cullen," my mom says in shock, standing in the darkness of the kitchen. "What on earth are you doing out at this time of night?"<em>

"_He wasn't," Rose says, walking in the door behind me, scaring the shit out of me in the process. "I called him and asked if he would come and walk me in. There was this creepy car following me on my way home, and I knew Daddy would be asleep, so I called Edward instead." She looks up at me nodding, urging me with her eyes to agree with her and go along with it._

_Man, she's good . . . or bad, but regardless, mom seems to be going for it. I turn my gaze from Rose back to my mom and nod in agreement, afraid to say anything, because I'm a horrible liar. Had Rose not been behind me, my ass would be grounded for the next week, if not longer._

"_Well . . . then, I guess that's good," my mom says, wrapping her robe around her tighter as she walks into the dim light of the foyer. "I'm glad you didn't take any risks, baby. There are crazy people in this world." She cups Rose's cheek, planting a kiss on it, before turning to me and doing the same. After locking the door behind us, she makes her way up the stairs. "You both need to get straight to bed. It's late."_

_I let out a huge breath, relief finally flooding my body. _

"_What the hell, Rose?" I whisper._

"_I saw you turning down Chartres and followed you home. I was hoping I'd pull in the same time as you, but I got caught by the light, and you didn't." _

"_You were following me?"_

"_You really shouldn't be out this late, Edward. It's not safe."_

"_I can't believe you lied to Mom." I quietly laugh under my breath, realizing she's had a lot more practice than me._

"_Oh, hush. You would've done the same for me. That's what families are for." She pats my cheek, similar to what my mom had done minutes before, but without the kiss. Thank God._

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><p>After Emmett comes home from work and my mom walks in with the pizzas I requested, we all gather in my sister's formal dining room. I tried to persuade Rose to let us eat off paper plates, but she refused, saying something about tonight being a "special occasion", and that means we must use her "special occasion" dinnerware. As long as I don't have to wash the dishes, I'm good. I'm fairly certain these particular plates don't belong in a dishwasher, and the idea of holding and cleaning them while my hands are covered in soapy water scares the shit out of me, to be honest.<p>

"Does Jasper still wear those crazy bowties, Edward?" Emmett asks, bringing me back to the conversation.

"Yeah, he was wearing a bow tie for my interview."

Rose giggles. "That boy has been a contradiction in fashion since the day I met him. Bow ties and cowboy boots have always been his signature look, along with his shaggy hair. He's a great guy, though. You'll like working for him, I'm sure."

I nod my agreement as I finish the last bite of my fried oyster pizza. Working for Jasper won't be a problem, but taking care of my customers while staring at _Ania_ all day might be.

After dinner is over, I hug everyone and tell them good night. Tomorrow is a school day, and I have to spend some time preparing before I go to sleep.

In my apartment, I make sure the door is locked and the kitchen sink is empty before I head to my room and lay out my shorts and t-shirt for the next day. It's a month into the fall semester, but that doesn't mean the weather's getting any cooler in Louisiana. It's pretty much flip-flop weather year-round down here, for which I'm grateful.

All of my classes are on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I was anxious to get back to my studies this semester, but knowing I needed to ease back into the student lifestyle made me cut back from my usual six classes a term to only three. I'm trying not to push myself too hard, too fast, but I just want to be…_normal_ again.

I double-check that my textbooks and binder are in my backpack, along with plenty of pens and pencils, before placing it by my bedroom door. While my shower heats up, I make sure my watch has the start times of my classes set up as alerts. I have the same alerts set on my cell phone, because you can never be too careful. Being late one time back in August was enough to set me straight. I could swear everyone was staring and laughing at me as I tried to sneak to a seat in the back of the class. Embarrassment flooded my body to the point I couldn't concentrate on what the professor was saying—it was paralyzing—but there was no way I was going to risk sneaking out of the room. I stayed in my seat until the last person was gone, then promptly rushed home to the solace of my quiet apartment.

Steam from my bathroom catches my attention, so I undress and step under the spray, letting the hot water wash away the memory of being late to class. I haven't been late since then, and I'm actually enjoying school now. Before, I enjoyed my social life and tolerated my classes. I never had to work very hard for good grades, but I don't have that luxury anymore. Now, the harder I work in a class, the more I appreciate it and the more I learn.

_Just one more thing to add to the list of changes I've experienced lately._

Out of the shower with my teeth minty-fresh, I attempt to control the hair on my head. I swear, it doesn't matter what direction I brush it. It'll just stand straight up or curl in the opposite direction. The girls I used to know called it 'sex hair' and would love to run their fingers through it. Not anymore, though. I haven't been with a girl in over six months, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. I don't think I'm ready for that…yet.

As usual, any time I have to look at myself in a mirror, my eyes automatically zoom in on the scar above my right eye. It looks so different than it used to. The color has faded to a light shade of peach but will still shine if caught by the light. It's smooth, and now that my eyebrow has almost completely grown back, it's harder to see. What's not covered by my eyebrow travels up at an angle before curving toward my temple.

Yeah, it's not as gruesome as it used to be, but it's still enough to make people stare and whisper. I hate the whispers the most.

Jasper told me that _Ania_ doesn't talk to anyone when she's in the café. I can't help but wonder if _she'll _notice my scar . . . if _she'll_ whisper.

Trying to put the sad girl out of my mind so I can get some sleep, I set the alarm clock on my nightstand before turning off my lamp and settling into bed. Today was a good day. I get anxious not ever knowing what to expect when I wake up in the morning, but I can only hope for the best as I drift off to sleep.

After grabbing a protein bar and bottle of water, I make my way to campus. I park and lock up my bike, thankful for the cool breeze blowing in and keeping the humidity low…for now, anyway.

While walking into my building, I spot several people I know from class, but we don't acknowledge each other. The other students here are only acquaintances, not friends. I had friends at my other school, Tulane University, but they've all moved on and forgotten about me by now, I'm sure. Loyola is under a third of the size of Tulane, and it's a welcome change for me. I definitely prefer the smaller size and more relaxed atmosphere.

As I sit down in my Intro to Courts class, I make sure to set my recorder. Without it, I would fail most of my classes. It's hard for me to keep up with the handwritten notes, and I often forget what one class was about by the time I make it through the next. Rose helped me set up my schedule, and I'm glad I listened to her advice and only took classes every other day. It takes me the rest of the day to transcribe my recordings onto paper and go through my notes, committing to memory as much of the information as I can.

My classes run on time, and soon I'm on my bike and headed to Crescent Moon for my training.

Jasper greets me wearing polka dot suspenders and his long wavy hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. I don't know how he's able to pull a look like that off, but he does. He's a perfect example of New Orleans eccentricity.

"Edward! It's great to see you. You ready to learn the ropes?"

"Yes, sir," I answer. I wonder if I might need to take notes to make sure I remember everything, but I don't want Jasper to think I'm a complete idiot. I'll do the best I can, and if I need help, I'm sure I can ask him to repeat himself.

After going over some general information about the café and the basic duties of my job, Jasper tells me to take a break while sliding a bowl of gumbo toward me.

"So, what do you think so far?" he asks.

"It doesn't seem too complicated, which is good…for me. If I focus on the main tasks—greeting the guests, taking their orders, bringing their food, and then the check, it seems more manageable. I just worry about having more than one or two tables at a time."

"It can take a few days to get the hang of things, but don't worry. No one here wants you to fail. If you fail, then we all fail, and that's just not good business. We're all here to help, so don't be too shy or too proud to ask, alright?"

Jasper and I talk a bit more about what's expected of me before he sends me to see Kate and get my work schedule. My first real day of work is next Tuesday. It's such a mixed bag of emotions that I'm feeling—scared, excited, hopeful, and anxious. I always have a bit of anxiety, but knowing I'm going to be thrown into a new situation with new people only makes it worse…especially when I think of seeing _her_. _Ania_. For some reason, I can't get her out of my head.

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><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jiff:** Hey, y'all, hey! Thank you for making last week's kick-off of this story so amazing! We were blown away by all of the alerts, reviews, posts, and tweets!

**Jenny Kate:** Seriously, y'all are amazing! We wanted to let any new readers know that we have a Facebook group where we discuss stories, not just ours, and sometimes we also post pictures and we might even throw a teaser in here or there. You can find it by looking up "Jiffy Kate Fan Fiction".

**Jiff:** You can also find us both on Twitter and Facebook. We like to post pics of Rob on Hump Day and, after this past Sunday, we just might make "Tipsy Review Replies" a weekly occurrence, even though we probably spent more time tweeting and posting about being tipsy than actually responding to reviews!

**Jenny Kate:** We know you guys probably have more questions after this chapter. Like we said last week, we probably can't answer a lot of them, but we still love hearing them! So, feel free to ask away! If we can answer, we will, and if we can't, you'll probably get some cheesy reply. But we really love knowing what you guys are thinking, so let us hear it—good or bad!

**Jiff:** Thank you to our amazing beta, GeekChic12, and our awesome pre-readers, Lynzylee, Katie Boberg, and Amy Viar! Go, Team JiffyKate!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

The bad dreams started Friday night and got progressively worse all weekend. I tossed and turned all last night, images of failure flashing through my mind—breaking dishes, customers yelling at me, a look of disappointment on Jasper's face. Yesterday, during my classes, all I could think about was greeting customers and taking orders. I'm not sure if this job was a good idea. Maybe I'm not ready. I honestly have no idea how I'll survive today.

But one thing I do know is, I _can't_ fail.

First of all, I'd let my family down. Second, I'd let Jasper down, and even though we just met, his opinion of me means a lot. Third, it would mean I might never see _Ania_ again, and I might never know her real name or what her voice sounds like or why she hides behind her curtain of long dark hair.

Those thoughts put me on edge, but hopefully, they'll also keep me from messing everything up. I've done enough of that. It's time for me to start pulling my own weight and getting back to becoming a functioning member of society.

My therapist says, "If you're not busy living, you're dying." I've been close enough to dying to know that I want to be busy living.

Just as my hand rests on the handle of the back door of the café, my phone rings in my pocket.

"Hello, Mama." I let out a deep breath, as if I'm annoyed, but I can't help the small smile that creeps up on my face.

"Hey, baby. Just wanted to say good luck today, and I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks."

"I'll see ya at dinner tonight."

"Yep, see ya tonight."

"You're gonna do great." Hearing her voice and knowing that she's there for me no matter what is just the push I need.

"I hope so."

When I walk through the door, there are a few people milling around in the kitchen. Each of them nods their head and greets me with a "hey", like I belong here. I'm not sure if I feel like I do just yet, but it's nice to know they don't look at me like the freak I feel like sometimes.

The melodic tone of the saxaphone from the corner of the street is filtering in the partially opened window over a large stainless steel sink, and a guy at the counter in the middle of the kitchen is humming along. Everyone seems to work together like a finely tuned orchestra, and the fear of failure hits me again.

_What if I can't do this?_

A girl with a curly blonde ponytail walks through the swinging doors with a tray full of partially empty glasses. She pauses briefly to pin an order slip on the wire hanging over the counter with one hand, while balancing the tray precariously with the other.

_What if I drop a tray and break all of the glasses? Do you get fired for that?_

Self-doubt is eating me from the inside out, but just before I can tuck tail and run back out the door, Jasper's voice fills the room, handing out instructions.

"Jessica, the couple at table four changed their mind about dessert."

He sets a stack of plates in the steamy sink before practically dancing over to the big stove, where a muscular guy with floppy brown hair is whisking with one hand and flipping with the other.

"Ben, I was instructed to give compliments to the chef on the butter sauce today," he says, tipping his imaginary hat. "Edward, my boy! It's good to see you. Are you ready to get your feet wet?"

He can probably tell from the scared-as-shit look on my face that I'm having second thoughts.

"You're going to do just fine," he assures me, slapping my shoulder and easing me toward the door that leads to the main part of the café. I peek out as the doors part and see a few tables are occupied, but for the most part, the place is pretty empty. My shoulders sag with relief, and I take a deep breath, trying to convince myself I can do this.

"You can do this," Jasper says, eyeing me from the side, as if he can hear the war going on in my mind. "I have faith in you."

I nod my head in response and begin following him around the room, shadowing his every move. He allows me to watch and learn without pushing me into the lion's den. Gradually, I begin to feel more comfortable, moving easily between the crowded tables and knowing when to duck or scoot out of the way.

"See ya next time, darlin'." Jasper waves as one of the last customers leaves. It's not the end of the day, just the end of the lunch rush, and as he explained to me earlier, a time to get everything back in order before the evening crowd descends.

I think the time between lunch and dinner will be my favorite time at work. The crowd is gone, the café is quiet, and I'm left to monotonous chores like folding napkins and wrapping silverware. It's calming and exactly what I need in the midst of all the newness.

The bell above the door rings, signaling a customer. Jasper opens the swinging doors wide, greeting them as they come in, offering them a table by the window and announcing their server will be right with them.

_Oh, shit. Is that me? Am I their server? I don't think I'm ready to fly solo. What if I forget the specials?_

"Table five is all yours," he says, hitting me lightly with his towel as he passes by.

"Welcome to Crescent Moon," I say mechanically, walking up to the edge of the table. "What can I get you to drink?"

Out of habit, I push my glasses up and sweep my hair to the side to cover my scar.

The couple never even look up at me, both ordering a rose mint tea, our house specialty. Without saying another word, I stumble over my own two feet as I turn and head for the safety of the kitchen.

"Two rose mint teas," I mumble, internally berating myself for being a complete idiot.

"Two rose mint teas," Angela repeats, leaning over to meet my eyes with a smile. "Everything going OK?"

"If you consider being a moron and almost knocking over two tables _OK_, then yeah." I can't help but give her a small smile in return.

"Don't let the first day jitters get to ya. Trust me, we've all been there. I'm sure you'll break a few plates before it's all over with," she says, laughing as I turn around and head back out the door, nearly running over Jessica and a full tray of dirty dishes.

"Sorry."

"No problem."

As I struggle through my first day—forgetting orders, spilling soups, and nearly dumping an entire pitcher of ice water on a lady—my mind occasionally drifts to _her_ . . ._ Ania_. I wonder why she only comes here on Thursdays. When Jasper approaches and starts making small talk, it's on the tip of my tongue to ask about her, but he seemed so closed off about the subject the first day I was here, I'm afraid to bring it up. So, I wait. Thursday seems like a year away.

"So, are you ready for your second day at work?" Rose asks as she pours coffee into two mugs. "Jasper said you did really well for a newbie." She smiles as she looks back at me over her shoulder. I knew she would check up on me.

"I was a mess. I'm surprised he didn't fire me on the spot."

"Oh, please. You're not the first new waiter or waitress to make a few mistakes on your first day. Besides, it's a lot to take in, and . . . " She drifts off, and I know what she's wanting to say. She wants to make excuses for me and blame my incompetence on something that's out of my control, but she can't make excuses for me the rest of my life. I'm done with that.

"Rose," I warn.

She turns around and gives me her concerned look—mouth twisted, worried eyes. "It's going to take time. You can't expect to be back at full speed right away."

"I know." I pinch my nose and release a deep breath of air. It's frustrating and limiting, and I hate it. But it is what it is, and I refuse to let it rule my life.

"You just try your hardest, and that's all you can do. Take it one day at a time, just like the doctor said."

"Thanks, Rose."

"Anytime." She kisses me on my cheek as she pushes the cup of coffee into my hand. "Have a good day! I can't wait to hear about how the second day goes," she yells, closing the front door behind her.

The highlight of today is that I'm finally going to see _Ania_ again. My mind races with questions and curiosities, but more than anything, I just want to see her and have a chance to commit more of her to memory—the color of her eyes, what her smile looks like, and the sound of her voice. I'm really hoping I get a chance to talk to her…_if_ I have enough nerve to talk to her.

Today is similar to Tuesday. Jasper allows me to shadow him through half of the day, and then he puts me in charge of a couple tables toward the front. I try not to watch the door and the clock, but the longer I have to wait and anticipate seeing _her_, the more worked up I feel inside. Somehow, I have to get a grip before I cause myself to have a migraine and am forced to leave before she even gets here. That would be horrible.

I ask Jasper for a five-minute break, and he tells me to go ahead but asks me first if everything is OK. I nod my head, telling him nonverbally that it is. But the truth is, I'm feeling a bit out of control at the moment, and I need a few quiet minutes to take some deep breaths and get myself in check.

As I lean back against the brick on the outside of the café, I breathe deeply through my nose, inhaling the delicious, rich aromas from the kitchen, and attempt to clear my mind, only concentrating on my diaphragm going up and down.

"Care for a smoke?" I turn to look at the dark-haired girl from the kitchen, Angela. She's holding a half pack of cigarettes in my direction. "Sometimes it helps when I'm having a stressful day. You look like you could use it."

"I'm fine. I just needed a few minutes alone." As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I feel like a complete asshole. I didn't mean it like that, but sometimes I say things without thinking.

I start to apologize for sounding so rude, but she waves me off.

"No worries. We all need a break from time to time."

"Well, I didn't mean it like that. Sometimes I say stupid shit." My hair falls down into my eyes as I turn my head to look over at her.

She laughs, letting out a puff of smoke in the other direction. "I like you."

"Thanks."

There was a time when a lot of people liked me and wanted to be my friend, but that time seems like a lifetime ago.

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey, Cullen," Ethan hollars down the corridor, running to catch up with me. <em>

_I stop and wait for him. "Hey."_

"_So," he begins, throwing an arm around my shoulder, "you comin' to the party tonight at Julie's house? I hear her parents are gonna be gone, and Lauren's supposed to be spending the night." The last part comes out suggestively, and I can't keep myself from laughing at him. _

"_I don't need Julie's parents to be gone to get Lauren alone," I reply confidently, because it's the truth. Lauren and I have been together for the last two years, and we're perfectly capable of finding time to be alone. "But the party sounds fun. I've got dinner with my family tonight, but I'm sure I can make my way over there later."_

"_Dude! You have to! It won't be a party if you're not there." _

"_I said I'll be there."_

"_Cool!" He slaps my back before running back in the direction from which he came. I roll my eyes, because that kid is always on the run, even on the football field, which is why he's my number one go-to for passes. He and I make a great team. I wish he was interested in signing for Tulane. He'd be a great asset to my future team. _

"_Have a good weekend, Cullen," Mr. Birdie says as we pass in hall. _

"_You too, Mr. Birdie."_

_It's going to be weird not being here come next school year. Most kids are counting down the days until they get to college, but I've loved every second of high school. As much as I'm ready to take the next step in life, I'm really going to miss this place. _

"_There you are." Lauren reaches around and slides her hand into my back pocket. "I've been looking everywhere for you."_

"_Hey." I kiss the top of her head, looking behind us to make sure no one is looking before I move my attention to her lips. "Ready for the weekend?"_

"_Ready for some alone time with you," she says, pulling me closer as she leans into me. "You're coming over to Julie's tonight, right?"_

"_Yes, I already promised Ethan . . . and Trey . . . and Marcus, earlier at lunch," I tell her._

"_Good. It wouldn't be a party without you." She looks up at me with her big blue eyes, and I can't resist placing another kiss on her lips._

"_So I've been told."_

* * *

><p>"You got a new table, Edward," Jessica calls out as soon as I walk back into the building.<p>

I nod at her before I take in a deep breath and slowly let it out. A quick glance at my watch tells me I only have an hour left in my shift, so I straighten my shoulders and walk to the front, determined to end my work day on a positive note.

My new table is a nice older couple, who are very laid-back and easy to please. After their martinis and appetizers are served, they settle into an effortless conversation. It's clear they've been in love for a long time and are perfectly suited. They remind me of my parents in that respect, and I can't help but wonder if I'll ever find my soul mate one of these days. I used to think it was a given for me, but now, I'm not so sure.

Barely paying attention to my surroundings, I nearly trip over my own two feet as I turn around to head back to the kitchen, because sitting at table six is the long dark hair I've been waiting for all day. Thankfully, she's turned toward the window and doesn't see me stumbling around like a drunk. I manage to stay upright the rest of the way into the kitchen, where I brace myself on the wall and take deep breaths. Opening my eyes, I see Jessica and Angela both looking at me but trying to look busy at the same time. Neither of them says anything, but they exchange a glance across the counter as they finish garnishing plates that are ready to be taken out to the customers—_my_ customers.

"Two specials are up for table five," Jessica says loudly over the roar of the busy kitchen.

After I compose myself and feel like my hands are steady enough to carry the plates to the table without dropping them, I pick them up and head back out through the kitchen doors. Setting the plates in front of the older couple, I politely ask them if there's anything else I can get them before turning around and stealing a glance at _Ania_.

Part of me is internally begging for her to look up, but the other part is saying no. If she looks at me, I'll probably make a fool out of myself, but I'd love to know if her eyes are as sad as they were last week . . . and what color they are. Are they brown? Blue? Green? Gray? Does she ever smile? Is the sadness always on her face?

Technically, her table is in my section, and even though I know Jasper told me to not bother her, I'm fighting the urge to offer her some water or ask if she needs anything.

I wonder how long she stays. Glancing down at my watch, I notice it's just a little after six, which means she must come here right at six o'clock, or at least she did today. I make a mental note of that, so I can be more prepared next time.

As I continue walking between my few tables, checking on the customers, I keep an eye on her, waiting for her to look up and notice me, but she never does. When I have the older couple's table cleared, I intentionally walk by hers. Slowly. She's wearing a black long-sleeve t-shirt that she has pulled over her hands, as if she's cold, and her tattered brown leather backpack is sitting beside her like a place holder. A journal or notebook of some sort is laid out in front of her, but from what I can tell as I walk past, the pages are empty. She hasn't budged much since she got here. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was a statue, but I hear her clear her throat as her hand comes up and brushes at her face.

_Is she crying? _ That's probably a stupid question. If her face looks anything like it did last week, I'm sure she is. I think that's what bothered me the most. She looked like she could shed tears at any moment, and for whatever reason, it resonated in my chest.

I guess the better question is: _Why is she crying? _

_And why do I care?_

The lump in my throat is unexpected, and I try to ignore it as I continue walking to the kitchen to drop off the tray of dirty dishes.

Something—something deep inside—pulls me to her, and I can't explain it. I've never felt drawn to another person like I am to her.

"Don't try to figure her out," a voice whispers beside me, as I watch _Ania_ from afar.

I turn to see Angela beside me, following my line of sight to the table where she sits. "She's never said a word to any of us. Well, besides Jasper. Apparently, they go way back. She's been coming here for a few years, but I guess she hasn't always been like that," she says, motioning to her still form now staring down at the blank pages in front of her. "Sometimes she just sits, and sometimes she writes in that book. She always comes on Thursdays at six o'clock and stays until at least seven, sometimes longer. There's something mechanic about the things she does, but I've never been able to figure her out."

I look over to see Angela in deep thought, shrugging her shoulders as she stands perplexed over the girl with the long dark hair.

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jenny Kate:** So, I guess this is the chapter where we warn y'all that it's gonna be a slow burn.

**Jiff**: Like, slower than molasses!

**Jenny Kate:** We hope you guys don't flounce us! We promise we're getting closer to some more interaction!

**Jiff**: Those that have read our fics in the past know that we're E/B HEA-girls that always finish a story, so we're hopeful that puts our new readers at ease, as well.

**Jenny Kate:** We don't want to give too much away, because this is one of those stories that's best told when you don't know what's coming next.

**Jiff**: Yeah, our _Bella Donna_ readers should know we like our cliffies!

**Jenny Kate:** So, we hope y'all stick with us! We really love reading your reviews with your theories and guesses. And, we really really love hearing how much you love this Edward already!

**Jiff**: *cradles TOOWard to her bosom* Hmmmm…not sure how I feel about the name 'TooWard" LOL

**Jenny Kate:** Anybody have a good name for this Edward yet? If you do, tell us in the reviews! Also, whatdya think about his first week on the job and his observation of "Ania"?

**Jiff**: As usual, thanks to Team JiffyKate: Amy, Katie, Lynsey, and Geeky! We love you ladies long time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

The fact that I didn't even get to see a glimpse of _Ania's_ face yesterday is plaguing me. I dreamed about her again last night. It was nothing specific, just a girl in a long white dress in a pool of water. I never saw her face, but I know it was her. She was standing there, her dress floating around her, making her appear ethereal, while her dark hair hung down to her waist, much like it has the two times I've seen her. Grey skies opened up above her, and rain poured from the sky, dripping off the ends of her hair.

I think what bothers me the most is that I know I have an entire week to wait for my next chance to see her. I had hoped, at the very least, to see her face yesterday. Of course, I'm not a big fan of eye contact, but I want to see hers. What if the next time I see her she still stays hidden behind her veil of hair? What then? Do I wait another week? _Can_ I wait another week? The longer I wait, the more invested I feel, and I don't even know why or what I'm seeking.

When I can't comprehend something or remember something from my past, my therapist always tells me to start with the truth I know and go from there. She puzzles me and I'm drawn to her. Those are the only two truths I know. Other than that, I'm left with a bunch of question marks and unplaced emotions.

Rose sensed something was bothering me when I came in from work yesterday evening, but I tried to convince her it was the pressure of working a job and adjusting to something new. She gave me the one eyebrow look that says she doesn't quite believe me, but she let it rest. If I'm not mistaken, I overheard her on the phone talking to Jasper, or J, as she referred to him, partly because they've been close for many years and partly because she probably didn't want me to know she's checking up on me. I know she thinks I don't like that, but it doesn't bother me. I feel indebted my family, so if they need to check up on me or keep tabs on me, then I'll let them. We all have things to cope with, and I can't begrudge them their mechanisms. If I was in their shoes, I'd probably be overly protective and somewhat irrational from time to time, too.

As I roll out of bed, I begin my normal morning routine: make my bed, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, get dressed, then grab my backpack and leave. Performing these tasks in the same order allows my day to start in a calm manner, and I need as much calm as I can get, especially after my dream.

Biking to campus, I'm still struggling with what to do about _Ania_. I'm so curious about her, and I know I won't get any answers until I talk to her, but I just don't know if I _can_ talk to her. I stutter and trip over my words while having a conversation with my own family members. What makes me think I won't do the same or worse if I try to speak to _her_? And I get the feeling that she doesn't want to be talked to, which makes it even harder.

Part of me thinks I should give up now before I make a fool out of myself.

* * *

><p>"<em>Edward, how was your study session tonight?" <em>

_I shrug as I let my backpack drop off my shoulder and to the floor with a loud thud. "Fine."_

_Both of my parents have a signature expression when dealing with me and my sister. My mom cocks her left eyebrow and purses her lips together. This particular look is usually paired with her hands firm on her hips while her right foot taps a demanding rhythm. My dad, though. . . His "look" isn't as dramatic as my mom's. He simply focuses on my eyes with both of his brows raised expectantly while the words "I know you're full of shit. Now, 'fess up" are practically written across his forehead._

_This is the look he's giving me right now._

_I learned a long time ago, it doesn't do me any good to try to bullshit my way out of a conversation with either of my parents, so I let out a long sigh and tell the truth._

"_I wasn't really studying; I was with Lauren."_

_My dad doesn't look surprised, and I'm not sure if that's good or bad._

"_Son, we've discussed you having your priorities in order before, isn't that right?" he asks._

"_Yes, sir."_

"_I understand that your girlfriend is a priority to you, as she should be, but you have other things to focus on, too. Mainly, your grades. Unlike the football field, where you play as a team, your test scores are all on you."_

"_Dad, I don't know why you're so concerned with that. I'll get into college because of football. What I score on the SATs really doesn't matter."_

"_What happens if you get hurt and can't play football anymore? Your mother and I will always help you if you need it, but I'm not going to pay your tuition just so you can party your way through college. It's very simple. If you want a career that pays well, you'll need a degree, and in order to get that degree, you have to pass your classes. You're a very bright young man, but don't take things that come easily to you for granted."_

* * *

><p>No one, not even my dad, could've predicted just how right his advice to me was that day. Football did get me into Tulane, but it didn't keep me there, and it most definitely didn't get me into my current school. I've learned some hard lessons these last few months, but I'll be damned if I ever take anything for granted again.<p>

This is why I have to talk to _Ania_. It's too important to me to shrug it off like I've done so many times in my past, and I refuse to add not talking to her to my list of regrets. It's time to take charge and go for what I want.

I want to know _Ania_.

Unlike last week, I'm grateful for the seven days before I see _her_ again. Hopefully, I'll be able to work up the courage to say something, anything, even if it's just a simple hello.

I spend most of the time during my classes on Friday daydreaming about what it'd be like to talk to _Ania_. Several scenarios flit through my mind. I see the old me walking right up to her with the confidence I was born with and saying hello. She'd return my easy smile. That Edward would slide into the seat across from her and tell her I've noticed her and I'd like to get to know her better. But that me is in the past. I no longer have that kind of confidence in myself or in my ability to walk up to a girl and start talking. From there, my mind drifts to more likely first interactions—walking up to her to say something and forgetting everything I'd rehearsed, stumbling over a chair and falling into her table, spilling water on her—each scenario more embarrassing than the one before.

I hate this version of me. I hate that I can't just snap my fingers and go back to what I was seven months ago. The frustration brings tears to my eyes, and I hate that too. I don't want to feel weak or incompetent, but the more I push forward, the more I feel like I'm being pushed backward.

"What's got you lookin' like someone ran over your puppy?" Rose asks, nudging me with her hip, as she dries the dishes I'm washing.

"Nothing." I look down to see I only have a few pieces of silverware left. My mind obviously has been adrift with thoughts of _Ania_, since I started with a sink full of dishes.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine."

"Classes going OK?"

"Yes, Rose." She's going to push until she gets her answers, and that freaks me out. The worst part is that I know what's bothering me, but I don't know how to say it.

"Have you been feeling okay? No migraines or panic attacks?"

"No. Not in the last few weeks." There was the close call at the café last week, but I don't feel like elaborating, and since it wasn't an actual panic attack, I don't see any reason to bring it up.

"Have you been having nightmares again?"

"Not recently."

"Keeping your appointments with your therapist?"

I let out an exasperated breath as I finish washing the last fork. "Yes, Rose. I'm doing everything I'm supposed to be doing—therapist appointments, getting enough sleep, going to class." My chin falls to my chest, and I drape my arms over the sink.

"Then what's bothering you?" She crosses her arms over her chest as she leans against the cabinet beside me. "I'm worried about you. You seemed like you were doing so well, and now this week, I feel like you've taken a few steps back. I just want what's best for you. If work is adding too much pressure, then maybe we jumped the gun on that. Maybe you need to just focus on your classes for this semester."

"No!" My head pops up, and I realize I probably answered too abruptly, but there's no way I'm quitting work. I actually like it, and if I don't work, I don't see _Ania_, and that's out of the question.

Rose raises her eyebrow at my tone of voice, and she looks so much like mom.

I laugh, breathing heavily out of my nose, releasing the tension that felt trapped inside.

"What's so funny?"

"You gave me the mom brow."

"I did not!" She whacks me with the dish towel, and it stings a little, so I dip my hand in the dishwater and flick it at her.

Again, the mom brow comes out. "Oh, you're so gonna pay for that."

"You started it."

Rose sighs and leans back against the counter. "So, are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

"A girl," I say, simply because I don't know what else to say, and I know she's not going to let this go until I give her some kind of answer.

"A girl?" Rose repeats, questioning with her tone and her expression. I see the twitch of her lips, and I know this conversation isn't over. "What's her name?"

I push another laugh out through my nose, gripping the back of my neck. "I don't even know." The admission makes me feel foolish—stupid. How have I let a girl, whose name I don't even know, get so far under my skin?

"Hmmm," she says, grinning at the tiles on the floor. "But you _want_ to know her name?"

"Yes."

"So, you're going to ask her?"

"Yes—No. I don't know!" I resume my position against the sink and bury my head in my arms. "I feel like if I say anything I'm going to scare her off."

"You're not going to scare her off," Rose says softly. Her hand comes up to rub my shoulder because she thinks I'm making this about me, and although it is, in part, it's more about _Ania_.

"She'd be crazy to run away from you."

"What if I've forgotten how to even be with a girl?" I feel my cheeks get hot with my admission. It's definitely something I've given thought to.

"It's like riding a bike."

"What if it's not? What if I never get back to normal?"

"Who says you're not normal?" Rose's tone takes a more serious turn.

I know I shouldn't go here with her, because it pisses her off. I should save this for a therapist appointment, but I can't help the words that spill out. "Lately, I feel like the more I push myself to get back to where I was, the more I get further and further away."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Her question hits right at my core, and it resonates. Maybe it's not such a bad thing. Over the past seven months, I've been forced to see who and what really matters. The friends I thought were always going to be there bailed. The girl I thought I would be with forever dumped me. The life I thought I was going to have took a hard left turn . . . or maybe it was right.

"And if this girl is anything special, she'll see what we see. She won't stop at the obvious. She'll look deeper."

"I already feel things for her, and I don't even know her name. Is that weird?"

"Not necessarily. What is it about her that makes you want to get to know her?"

"She's sad. She has these sad eyes, and she hides herself away, willing people to not see her. But I want to. And the more she denies me that gift, the more I want it."

I wish I could talk to everyone as easily and comfortably as I talk to Rose.

"Have you ever stopped to think maybe you see some of yourself in her?"

"No, I guess not." I pause for a second, wondering if that's it. "The only thing I can think of when I look at her is that I'd like to help her . . . make her not so sad."

"The next time you see her, just walk up to her, count to three, and say hello. Just do it. Don't overthink it." She pushes off the counter and places her hands on my shoulders. "Most of all, just be you, because you're good enough."

* * *

><p><strong>AN's:**

**Jiff:** As some of you may know, Jenny Kate and I are together this weekend, which means 1) we're drinking…heavily and 2) SURPRISE UPDATE!

**Jenny Kate: **WOOHOO!

**Jiff:** You can tell by these first comments who's had more to drink. *coughJennyKatecough*

**Jenny Kate:** It's because I'm really good at drinking. Everybody has to be good at something.

**Jiff:** *sticks gold star on the tip of JK's nose*

**Jenny Kate: ** Thankyouverymuch. *wears it proudly* Who just knocked the EMPTY bottle of Long Island Iced Tea over? Not me.

**Jiff: ** Not a drop of liquor was spilled, so it doesn't count as a party foul. *sticks tongue out*

**Jenny Kate: ** I have no come back for that. I'm the one that has to wear a bib. But, HEY LOOK, we posted another chapter! *distracts the readers*

**Jiff:** AND, we totally mapped out the rest of the story today! Technically, it was already mapped out but it now has it's own doc so, it's officially official!

**Jenny Kate: ** I love when things are officially official. I also love the Ying Yang Twins. *sings* "From the window, to the walls"

**Jiff:** "Aww, skee skee, motherfuckers!"

**Jenny Kate: ** We should prolly wrap this shiz up before it gets too sloppy.

**Jiff:** Well, then, let's thank our amazing Team Jiffy Kate gals: Geekchic12, Lynsey, Amy, and Katie!

**Jenny Kate:** Also, we have to thank our girl, Layathomemom! She rec'd TOO on her last chapter and we love her for that and a lot of other things. If you aren't reading "Girl Code", you should be! It's two chapters from being complete! It's the perfect time to start reading!

**Jiff:** *knocks twice* See y'all on Friday!

**Jenny Kate:** *full body shivers*


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"_The next time you see her, just walk up to her, count to three, and say hello. Just do it. Don't overthink it." _

Rose's words from last week have been on a constant replay since I walked into work this afternoon. Somehow, I managed to make it to Thursday without losing my mind . . . or having a panic attack. Tuesday, when I was working, I kept trying to imagine myself talking to _Ania_. I tried to see myself doing just what Rose said—walking up to her, counting to three, and saying hello—but now that the time is getting closer, I'm not sure I can follow through. I also don't want to have to think about this for another week. I wish there was some other place I could see her, but until I grow a pair and introduce myself, that will never happen.

Taking a deep breath, I glance at the watch on my wrist for the millionth time in the last two hours.

"Got a hot date?" Jasper startles me, and I nearly drop the tray of glasses I'm currently carrying back to the kitchen. Thank goodness they're empty. "Whoa, didn't mean to spook ya." He laughs, flashing me a wide smile and helping me steady the tray.

"Sorry." My heart's pounding out of my chest right now. Probably due to the fact that Jasper scared the shit out of me, and because he's noticed that I've been watching the clock. The last thing I want is for my boss to think I don't want to be here, because I do. I want this job. If nothing else, it makes me feel normal.

"Don't be sorry, man. It's all good!" He rests his hand on my back as we walk to the kitchen together. "So, _do_ you have a hot date? " He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"No, nothing like that. I was just, uh. . ." He's the last person I want to admit this to. "I just was, uh—studying. I have a lot of,um. . . studying to do . . . when I get off work." My face feels hot from the lies coming out of my mouth, but I can't turn back now.

"Did you need the night off? You know, we're always willing to work with you on your schedule. School comes first," he says seriously, forcing me to make eye contact.

"No! No. It's fine. I'll have plenty of time to, uh . . . study . . . when I get off work."

"Well, you let me know if I can help in any way," Jasper says before patting my shoulder and walking toward his office.

I hate that I lied to Jasper, but what else could I have done? He's already told me to leave _Ania_ alone like everyone else is supposed to, so what would he have said if I had admitted to wanting to talk to her? Would he think I'm being defiant or just stupid? I don't want him to think either of those things about me. It took a while for me to get used to people thinking of me differently than they did before, or acting like something's wrong with me, but I know it's just a part of my life right now. There are only a handful of opinions that matter to me, and Jasper's is a new one. I don't want to let him down.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I'm on automatic pilot as I go to greet my new customer. Not registering which table I'm headed for, I walk until my thighs bump into the rounded corner of wood, making the entire surface shake. Startled eyes flash to my horrified ones, but there's something familiar about them. I know these eyes, but I've only seen them when they're sad.

_Ania_.

She quickly looks away, toward the window, letting her hair shield herself from me. Naturally, I'm speechless and embarrassed, so I make quick strides to the hallway leading to the kitchen, pressing my back against the wall when I'm hidden from everyone, trying to mold myself to the plaster. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pound my fists against the wall a few times and let out an aggravated growl.

I could really use a smoke right now, but it's been months since my last cigarette, and I don't want to rely on them to settle my nerves. I'm the one in control. At least, that's how it's supposed to be, right?

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey, brah, when are you gonna buck up and ask Lauren out?"<em>

_I inhale deeply, finishing my cigarette before tossing it on the ground and smashing it with the toe of my boot. Rolling my eyes, I laugh while blowing the smoke out of my mouth._

"_Why are you so curious about me and Lauren? I've already told you, I'll ask her when I'm good and ready."_

_My buddy, Tyler, and I are hanging outside, smoking, while the rest of our classmates are inside Eric Yorkie's house, celebrating the first football game and win of our junior year._

"_Speak of the devil," Tyler murmurs. The sound of a screen door slamming catches my attention, and I look up just in time to lock eyes with Lauren Greene._

_Lauren and I have known each other forever, attending the same schools since kindergarten. We've always been friendly toward each other but never hung with the same crowd until high school. This past summer was particularly good to her, maturing her body from an awkward teen to a beautiful young woman, and every hard-leg around here has been drooling over her since the first day of school. I was more than pleased to hear she was interested in me, but it hasn't made me rush to ask her out. _

_She gives me a shy smile that blooms bigger after I wink at her. I watch as her friend whispers something in her ear, making her giggle before she glances at me again._

_We've been tip-toeing around each other for the past three weeks, teasing each other with smiles and playful eyes, and suddenly, I don't want to play anymore. Bits and pieces of a conversation I had a month or so ago with my dad come to mind, but I pay them little attention. There is nothing gentlemanly about the thoughts I'm having for the blonde-haired beauty standing in front of me._

_I want her._

_When her eyes land on mine again, I hold her stare for a good five seconds before showing my index finger and beckoning her to me. Lauren walks slowly, yet confidently, toward me as I sit on the open tailgate of Ethan's truck and light another cigarette. I watch her long legs get closer, forcing my eyes to travel up her slim hips and narrow waist, landing on her full tits when she steps in between my legs. _

"_I thought athletes weren't supposed to smoke," are the first words out of her mouth, and I love that she speaks her mind without apology. Most girls around here say what they think I want them to say and never show their true selves. What's the point in that? _

"_We're not supposed to; I just needed something to keep my mouth busy. You know of any other ways to keep my lips occupied?"_

_Our mouths are only a couple of inches apart, and her sweet cinnamon breath blows over me when she laughs and answers, "I have some ideas."_

"_So, you and me, huh?" I ask, playing it cool. Yeah, this is definitely not from the Carlisle Cullen Book of Courtship. I think about adding something to it, being more romantic, but the way her eyes are shining in the moonlight makes me stupid._

"_Yeah, you and me," she says._

* * *

><p>And, it <em>was<em> Lauren and me—for a long time, but not anymore.

I mentally force my mind not to repeat the list of things I've lost recently like a broken record. If I fall down that pit again, I might not be able to crawl out.

"We gotta stop meeting here like this."

Looking up, I see Angela leaned up against the opposite wall, watching me with a small smirk on her face. Great.

"You OK?" she asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just needed a break." I feel like she's judging me. Every time I'm at my weakest, she seems to be around for the show.

"You know, you shouldn't overthink things out there," she says, nodding her head toward the front of the café. "Just relax and you'll be fine. Remember, this is New Orleans, and it's not called The Big Easy for nothin'."

She gives me a wink before sauntering off to her tables.

I wish it was that easy. I wish my problems ended at those tables out there. I also wish I could talk to _Ania_ as easily as I can Angela, but I can't. I guess it's because I'm not interested in her the way I am in the girl with the sad eyes. One thing's for sure. I'll never get to know _Ania_ if I don't talk to her first, and I won't talk to her if I keep hiding like I'm doing right now.

Frustrated with myself for even more reasons than before, I push my body off the wall and head to the front of the café to check on my customers. I let myself glance over at _Ania's_ table and I'm surprised to see her still sitting there.

_At least I didn't scare her off completely._

For the next hour, I wait on tables while secretly watching _Ania_. She makes it easy for me by only staring out the window and ignoring me. She's so good at blocking out her surroundings, I find myself wondering if she has hearing issues. I've never seen someone so lost in their own world. Except for myself, of course.

The more I watch her, the more my confidence grows.

_I'm going to talk to her tonight._

Every time I look at her, I repeat those words in my head.

_I'm going to talk to her tonight. _

Checking my watch, I realize she's been here for two hours, just sitting and staring out the window. She hasn't spoken or had anything to eat or drink, and my heart cracks a little as it registers how much she must be hurting. I could be wrong, but everything I've observed from her screams heartache.

_Now's the time. I'm going to talk to her._

I bring two glasses of water to a nearby table, but only one is taken from me. I'm still holding the second glass as I head toward _Ania's_ table. Like the cup of water shaking in the jeep with every step the T-Rex makes in the movie, _Jurassic Park_, the water in my glass threatens to splash out the closer I get to her. Quivering hands be damned, I can do this.

My feet feel like they're made of lead as I take the last two steps to stand next to her booth. I'm so close, I can see the few wispy strands of hair blowing around her face, courtesy of the ceiling fans above us. She's so beautiful.

_I can do this. _

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. When I close my mouth and try again, the same thing happens. _Ania_ must sense me invading her personal space because during my third attempt to speak, she quickly turns her body my way and looks at me. Her eyes are dull, still filled with sadness, but I search for more. Just a hint of curiosity, friendliness, or hope would make my day, but I see nothing like that. Instead, I see guilt, pain, and warning—her silently pleading with me to stay away.

Words are still not forming in my brain, and I realize I'm standing at _Ania's_ table with my mouth open, staring at her. I'm an idiot.

I'm an idiot who's reached his limit for the day. I can't take any more self-doubt or loathing, or I'll explode.

I carefully place the glass of water on her table, push through the front doors, and run.

I don't even pause to take off my apron or leave behind my pad and pencil. I just run.

I don't even stop to get my bike from the rack out front. I just run.

I don't even stop when I hear my name being called loudly behind me. I just run.

I run until my lungs burn so bad that I'm forced to stop, and when I finally look up, I have no idea where I am. The stench from the gutter I'm hunched over, breathing in deeply, pulls me out of my own head.

"Hey, sugar. I could show you a real nice time." Foreign hands are raking through my damp hair, and my feet take flight again.

My breath is so labored, and the throbbing in my head tells me a migraine is looming. Pressing my back into a brick wall in a dark alley, I try hard to block the noise and focus on my diaphragm, but it doesn't work. Nothing's working. The deep breaths, the diaphragm thing, nothing. Slowly, panic creeps up, and I feel the heat in the tips of my ears, my throat closing in on me.

Fumbling in my pocket, I'm grateful to find my phone there. As quickly as my shaking hands will allow, I press the speed dial.

"E, my main man! How's it hangin'?"

"C-can you come get me?" My voice stutters as my heart practically pounds out of my chest and my head feels like someone has it in a death grip.

"Yeah, yeah, I can," he says calmly, but I can hear the underlying concern. "You gotta stay with me. Where are you?"

"Bourbon."

"What the hell are you doing there?"

"Long story."

"Can you make it to the corner at Canal?"

"I think so."

Somehow, I make it down to the corner of Bourbon and Canal and wait until I see Emmett getting off of the city bus. His eyes are scanning the crowd of people until he spots me sitting on the ground, up against the side of a building near the stop light.

"This ground is disgusting, you know? There's a reason they wash the street every morning."

He's being Emmett and doing what Emmett does best—defuse and downplay the situation so I don't feel like the freak that I am. I grimace at the thoughts his words provoke, but can't find it in me to care about the condition of New Orleans' streets at this moment.

"I'm gonna need a full disclosure as soon as you feel better," he says, helping me off the ground and to the corner to wait on the light. As soon as we make it across, we hop on the first bus that'll get us close to the house, and Emmett hands me a white pill and a bottle of water.

The ride home is horrible for more reasons than one. I feel like a complete failure. I didn't talk to _Ania_. I made a fool out of myself trying to, and ending up in this situation, needing Emmett's help, feels like a huge setback. I feel the tightness in my throat reappear, but this time it's not panic. It's frustration and self-loathing, and it's so heavy that I feel close to breaking.

I manage to keep it together until I'm lying in my dark, cool apartment. Rose tried to insist on staying over, but Emmett convinced her that I just needed a little rest and alone time. I'll have to remember to buy him a case of Abita for saving my ass. Again.

The hammering in my head continues through the night, only allowing me intermittent moments of unrestful sleep. And the nightmares are back. Mixed in with the recurring sights and sounds are images of a girl submerged in a dark body of water, and the feeling of panic as I watch helplessly.

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jiff: **Our poor OtherWard…or is he AwkWard or GentleWard or StruggleWard… Jenny Kate posted a poll in our Jiffy Kate Facebook group asking for suggestions on this Edward's nickname. Check it out when you get a chance!

**Jenny Kate**: I think Gentleward is in the lead by a large margin, but I'm still quite fond of Otherward! This was a tough chapter for him, regardless of his nickname. He definitely struggled in this chapter.

**Jiff**: He did, the poor darlin. I've been so tickled to see all the love he's been receiving from all of you. Thank you so much for your sweet words!

**Jenny Kate**: Seriously! It feels so good to know that y'all love him as much as we do. So, thank you for that! We'd love to know how you feel about this chapter!

**Jiff**: Yes! Show Jenny Kate some belated birthday love while you're at it!

**Jenny Kate**: Awe, shucks! I feel like I've had enough birthday love today to last me a dozen birthdays!

**Jiff**: Yes, but they'll be reading this two days from now! Wow, old age is hitting you fast! LOL

**Jenny Kate**: I'm feeling all 37 years right now! LOL

**Jiff**: Okay, age jokes don't work on you because I'm older than you are! LOL! Thanks to Team Jiffy Kate: GeekChic12, Lynsey, Amy, and Katie! We love you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

"Rough night?" Em asks, his eyes peeking over the top of his coffee cup before he slowly takes a sip.

My reply is nothing more than a moan and a nod. It's all I can muster this morning, after the night I had. I just recently started feeling like my head is going to stay in one piece. The threat for an explosion or it splitting down the middle has passed, but it's left me with a migraine hangover. Glancing over at the clock on the wall, I see it's now a little after ten o'clock, and it dawns on me that Emmett has taken off work to be here with me. The lump in my throat that I've been trying to push down since last night is back. I feel weak and frustrated, and the emotions are forcing themselves to the surface.

"I'm sorry," I croak out, because I don't know what else to say.

"You don't have to be. We've been over this before."

His reminder should soothe some of the ache, but it doesn't make me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse. I hate continuously putting my family through turmoil. We've all been through enough. The worst part is I really thought I was getting better. I haven't had an episode like last night in a while.

"Don't do that, E," Emmett warns. "Don't go getting lost in your head and bottling all that shit up." He sighs, sitting his mug down on the table and leaning back in his chair. "Why don't you tell me what happened? Maybe you'll feel better if you talk it out."

I let out a deep breath, raking my hand through my hair, undoubtedly making it look worse than it already did. "It's embarrassing," I admit. My eyes focus on the tiny nick in the wooden table in front of me. My finger runs over the ridge, over and over, until I finally open my mouth and let it all out.

"I was trying to get up the nerve to talk to a girl." Seems like a good place to start. Emmett sits quietly, arms crossed, and lets me tell my story, leading up to the moment I called him.

"At least you tried," he says when I'm finished and completely spent, resting my head on my folded arms. "Listen, Edward. A couple of months ago, you wouldn't have even considered it. So the fact you were willing to even try is a huge step in the right direction. I mean, yeah, it sucks things didn't work out, and I'm sorry you suffered the consequences, but you handled everything the best way you know how."

"I totally fucked everything up." I want to say that I always fuck everything up, but that statement doesn't usually go over so well.

"No, you didn't."

My silence is the only answer he needs, because I feel like I did. What if Jasper is pissed at me? What if he fires me? What if I'm missing something really important in class today? What if Ania thinks I'm a complete fool? What if she doesn't come back? What if I never see her again?

With the mental onslaught of worst case scenarios, my heart is pounding out of my chest, and my hands grip the edge of the table, searching for a way to ground myself.

"Deep breaths, E." Emmett's voice is close and his hand rests on my shoulder. "It's not as bad as it seems. We'll work through this."

His tone is calm and even, just like he's always been. There's never judgement or pity. Maybe that's why I've always trusted and depended on him.

Well, maybe not _always_.

* * *

><p>"<em>Mom. Dad. This is my boyfriend, Emmett McCarty," Rose says, beaming as she stands beside the neanderthal she brought to dinner tonight. The last douche bag she brought home ended up breaking her heart, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna set back and watch this prick do the same. <em>

_Up until Royce King, heir to the King Hotels, Rose hadn't ever really brought boyfriends around. He was her first serious relationship, and it ended really shitty. I thought I was going to have to hunt him down and beat his ass, or else dad was going to get thrown in jail for shooting the son of a bitch. Every time Rose came home crying, the chance of one of us ending up in county increased. Which would've been seriously ironic, seeing as dad is one of the best attorneys in the state of Louisiana. _

"_Mr. and Mrs. Cullen, it's a pleasure to meet you." Wow. The neanderthal speaks in complete sentences. "Edward," he says, nodding in my direction. "I've heard a lot about you."_

"_Mhmmpf," I grunt out my response, and now I sound like the neanderthal. Rose's icy glare over the big burly guy's right shoulder is enough to send me into hypothermic shock. _

"_Rose tells me you're a stud football player," he says, still trying to break the ice. "I played back in the day."_

"_Yeah, Edward is planning on playing at Tulane when he graduates," my dad says, puffing his chest out a little. _

_We all sit down at the dining room table. The conversation from there on out is a lot less stuffy. Emmett charms the pants off of my mom with his "yes, ma'ams" and complimenting her cooking over and over. It's a bit over-kill if you ask me. _

"_I hear you love to fish, Mr. Cullen," Emmett says, as he helps my mom clear the table. "My grandparents have a nice pond about an hour or so out of town. It's great for catching some catfish. I'd love to take you sometime."_

_Football know-it-all._

_Cleaning off tables._

_Bringing up fishing._

_What an ass-kisser._

_I blindly flip through the channels on the TV in the den as they all talk. Emmett and my dad plan a fishing trip for the weekend after Labor Day. _

_I'm pretty sure my mom is mentally planning their wedding already._

"_Hey, Edward. I hear you like fast cars. Wanna come out and see my Camaro?"_

_Twenty minutes later, I've decided that Emmett isn't such a bad guy after all. The fact that he's gonna help me finish overhauling the Impala doesn't hurt, either. I really want to be able to drive it the day I turn sixteen, but if I don't get a move on, it'll still be sitting in the garage covered with a tarp, and I'll be taking my driver's test in my mom's old Subaru._

_It was my dad's first car, and he saved it for me. A beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala. There's a few scratches here and there, but for the most part, the exterior is perfect. Under the hood is where all the work needs done. My dad helps me when he has time, but his case load has been really heavy lately, so I've been doing most of the work myself. Emmett offering to come over and give me a hand is pretty cool of him . . . for a neanderthal, anyway._

* * *

><p>"So, what do you want to talk about today?"<p>

Exhaling loudly, I feel my frustration rise again, not because I'm talking with Dr. Gerandy, but because I'm forced to deal with all of this in the first place. It's getting old, revisiting the same demons over and over.

"Why the long face?" she asks as she rests back in her chair. One thing I've always loved about her is she's never pushy. From day one, she's allowed me to open up at my own pace.

"I guess it's because I felt like I'd been making progress, and now . . ." I pause, searching for the right feeling. "I don't know. Seems like I'm going backward."

"What makes you feel that way?"

Suddenly, the fray at the bottom of my khaki shorts is very interesting. I pick at the loose threads, trying to avoid the question at hand. I know, after all this time, she's not going to judge me. She's never made me feel bad about anything I've told her, and I've told her a lot of shit. I just don't know how to put _Ania_ into words. Because it's definitely _her_. She's why I'm so twisted up inside…why I ran from the restaurant…why I abandoned my responsibilities and didn't look back.

But she's _not_ to blame. That's all on me. If I was more normal, none of this would be happening in the first place.

"Edward, I'm not a mind-reader. You're going to have to tell me what's going on if you want me to help you fix it."

I do want to fix it. I want to fix _me_ so that I can talk to _her_.

"Have you ever liked someone you don't even know?"

"Tell me about her." I look up at her, and there's a slight smile on her face. It's been a long time since we've discussed the opposite sex in one of these sessions. It feels so foreign, I don't know where to start.

"Well, I don't even know her name."

"Tell me what you know about her. What is it that makes you like her?"

"I don't even know that. I told my sister it was because she has these sad eyes, but that's not why I like her. The sad eyes just make me want to take it away…whatever _it_ is that makes her look so hopeless. I feel drawn to her, and my heart kind of hurts when she's close by."

"What happened at the restaurant yesterday?"

"I had a talk with Rose about wanting to talk to this girl, and Rose told me to just go for it. I wanted to so badly, but the minute I saw her walk in, I panicked. I almost fell right into her table. I hid in the hallway for a few minutes and tried to get myself back under control, but the second I made up my mind that I was going to finally do it—talk to her—I just . . . freaked. My hands were shaking so bad. I tried to put a glass of water on her table, and when she looked up at me, like really looked at me, I didn't know what to do. So, I ran. I just fucking ran."

"And then what happened?"

"I kinda got lost in my mind, and pushing my body felt good . . . it felt like I was getting rid of all the shit I had built up. I ran for so long and so hard that, when I finally noticed how bad my chest hurt and I slowed down, I didn't even know where I was."

"Were you scared?"

"Yeah, especially when I realized I was on Bourbon St. The smells and the noise and all the people . . . I already felt a migraine coming on. I hid in an alley and called Emmett."

"Good. You did good, Edward. That's exactly what you should've done."

I laugh, but there's no humor behind it, because it doesn't feel _good_ . . . I don't feel _good_.

"What about the nightmares?"

"I hadn't had one in a while, probably since the week before school started back."

"But . . ."

"I had one last night."

"Same or different?"

"Same thing. It's dark and all I can hear are these eerie, piercing noises. It shouldn't even be _that _scary. I mean, I can't see a damn thing. It's just this bad, ominous feeling I get, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in a cold sweat, breathing like I just ran a marathon."

She takes a second to make some notes, and I try to not let my body react to the memory of the dream.

"So, what about your work?" she asks, changing the subject. "Have you contacted them?"

"Yeah, Jasper, my boss, he came by the house to check on me."

"How did that go?"

"I explained what I could. I mean, I apologized for my behavior and promised that I wouldn't let anything like that happen again."

"Edward, what have we discussed about setting yourself up for failure? I'm not saying that you will have another episode like that, and I hope that you don't. But don't put unnecessary pressure on yourself. Don't promise things you can't guarantee."

"I was afraid he wouldn't let me come back to work."

"Well, what did he have to say?"

"He's a really cool guy, so he was just more concerned about me, making sure I was OK."

"That's good to hear. Do you want to go back to work? Do you feel like it's too much, too soon?"

"Have you been talking to Rose?"

"Edward, you know I don't talk to anyone about what we discuss."

"Well, I like my job, and I don't feel like it's too much or too soon. " I have to go back. I have to see _her_. I'm not sure how Dr. Gerandy feels about that, but I don't feel like I have any other choice but to go back and try again. Maybe one of these days I'll be able to talk to her, and maybe she'll talk back to me. Maybe I won't freak out. Maybe she won't look so sad.

Maybe.

Dr. Gerandy and I sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes while she writes on her notepad, and I think of _Ania_.

* * *

><p>Today is the first day I've felt somewhat back to normal since last week, and I'm pretty sure it has everything to do with the fact I'm going to see <em>Ania<em>. The nerves are there and the underlying anxiety, but I'm also . . . happy. I guess. I just really want to see her. I've thought about it a lot. I've thought about every scenario and all the possibilities, and the worse thing I can come up with is that she doesn't show. Everything else, I can deal with. I can even deal with her looking at me weird or whispering about me, as long as she's there.

I park my bike on the rack out in front of the café before walking around to the back door. I guess I can walk in the front, but I like coming in this way. There are less people to stare at me. I'm slowly getting the hang of things around here, and it feels good. Except for the setback last week, I've done fairly well. I've broken a few dishes and messed up some orders, but nothing that's gotten me fired so far. And that feels good.

At the end of our session on Friday, Dr. Gerandy pointed out my accomplishments and different milestones I've achieved, reminding me I'm doing better than I think I am. She also told me that, while _Ania_ is definitely a distraction, she's a welcomed one.

It's a pretty slow day, and I'm kind of glad. My head has definitely been in the clouds since I got here. I find myself watching the clock and counting down the minutes until _she's_ supposed to be here. When the big hand finally inches toward the six, my attention stays on the door instead of the clock.

An elderly couple, who have become my regulars, show up, and as I'm taking their drink orders, I feel like a shot of electricity hits my insides when I hear the bell above the door chime. I don't even have to turn around to know she's here.

When I walk back to the kitchen, I want to look at her, but I can't. I'm suddenly stricken with the fear of what I might see. What if I completely ruined my chances of ever talking to her? What if she looks at me with disgust? My new resolve I had just moments ago is already fading fast, so I walk faster, nearly running into Angela when I barge through the kitchen doors in search of safety.

"Sorry," I mutter, never looking up at her, but I can feel her eyes on me.

"No problem," she says as she takes the slip of paper out of my hand and calls out my order for me.

In a few minutes, the drinks magically appear on the tray in front of me. "Thank you," I tell her, partially lifting my head so she can hear me.

"You're welcome."

I manage to get through the next hour without any incidents. I allow myself glances in _Ania's_ direction, but I try to stay focused on my tasks at hand.

The shirt she's wearing today is a light blue, and her dark hair is a lovely contrast against it. Instead of staring out the window like she's done every other time I've seen her, today she's been writing in the book she always brings. For a good thirty minutes, every time I look over at her, her head is bent down, and her hand is flying swiftly across the page. I wonder what she writes about in that book. I want to know all her stories—the sad ones, the happy ones. I want to know what she's thinking about when she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, as if she's trying to retrieve a memory that's trying to escape.

When I make another trip to the kitchen to dump a tray of dirty dishes, I notice that the clock on the wall says it's half past seven. I wish she would stay longer. I know we haven't talked, and I still don't know anything more than I did the last time she was here, but I like being near her.

As I walk back through the doors, she's standing from the booth and adjusting the brown backpack on her shoulders. She pulls her long hair out and allows it to cascade back down, covering her shoulders and the bag. Just as I think she's going to leave without even a backwards glance, she turns her head toward me. For a brief moment, our eyes lock. No words are exchanged, and her expression hardly shifts, but before she looks away, the corner of her mouth turns slightly upward.

Most people wouldn't have even noticed, but to me . . . it's everything.

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jenny Kate: **She smiled at him...and there was eye contact! Like Edward said, to most people it's nothing, but to him it's everything!

**Jiff**: Sa-Woooon!

**Jenny Kate:** Edward had a lot of stuff to work through in this chapter, but I think he's making progress.

**Jiff**: Believe us, we know how much y'all want him to make progress! Thank you for being patient with him AND us!

**Jenny Kate:** We'd also like to thank y'all for the reviews and for loving this Edward. And a HUGE thank you to Team JiffyKate: our beta, Geekchic12, and our pre-readers, Lynsylee, Katie Boberg, and Amy Viar! We couldn't do this without them!

**Jiff**: SO true! These ladies are amazing and we're so thankful for them!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

"Where's the fire?" Rose teases as I'm hurrying around, packing up my books I've been using to study.

"Fire! Fire!" Ben yells, running through the kitchen.

"Stop, drop, and roll!" Maggie instructs in her adorable three-year-old voice that sounds more and more like my sister every day.

"See what you started?" I laugh as I slide the last text book into my backpack.

"Well, at least they're properly trained in fire emergencies."

We both laugh as the two midgets run from the kitchen into the living room and back around. Ben is now imitating a fire truck, and Maggie is following behind with an armful of stuffed kittens she's rescued. "I'll save you, Mr. Goldfish," she assures the orange-colored tabby she's clutching by the neck. All of Maggie's stuffed animals are named after her favorite foods.

"I should get going. I have to be at work by three," I explain.

"That's not for another hour. Sure you don't want to stick around and have a late lunch with me?"

"No. I had some of Ben and Maggie's mac and cheese that Em made for them earlier, and I, uh, just want to make sure I'm not late for work."

"Oh, OK." Rose nods her head and has a small smile on her face. "Well, you better get going then. Wouldn't want you to miss any of your favorite customers."

"It's not like th—never mind." I can't argue with her. I want to tell her she's wrong and this has nothing to do with what she's thinking, but it does. It has everything to do with what she's thinking. Somewhere in my mixed up brain, I feel the need to be at work as early as possible, especially on Thursdays. Even though I know _Ania_ won't be at the café before exactly six o'clock…she _will_ be there, and I've got to make sure I'm there…the earlier the better.

Almost four hours have passed when I feel my senses go on high alert. Every part of my being knows _Ania_ will be here soon. Surprisingly, I feel almost calm…anxious, for sure, but not as bad as last week and certainly not as bad as the week before.

Perhaps it's because of the almost-smile she gave me last Thursday. I haven't stopped thinking about her lips turning up all week, and I practically break out into a sweat thinking about what receiving a full smile from her would feel like.

In the midst of my daydream, I don't hear the chime on the door. I don't even notice _Ania_ sit down, even though my gaze is pointing directly at her booth. It's not until Jasper clears his throat behind me that I realize I'm standing in the middle of the café, holding an empty tray, and staring at her.

For a second, I'm afraid Jasper is upset he caught me slacking on the job, but thankfully, his deep chuckle sets me at ease.

After putting the tray down and refilling a few water glasses, I take a chance and look over at _Ania_. Her face is red, almost like she's flushed, which makes me wonder if she's not feeling well. Maybe I should bring her something from the kitchen. It's always bothered me that she never eats or drinks while she's here. I've obviously inherited my mama's intense disdain for anyone going hungry in her presence.

I think for a moment on what I could bring her. If she's sick, she might not want to eat anything, and I know when I don't feel well, water is the last thing I desire.

Inspiration hits, and within minutes, I'm striding over to her booth with a mug of hot tea like it's no big deal. I can't let myself stop and think of just how big of a deal this is right now.

As I reach _Ania's_ table, I'm momentarily blinded by a flash of light. I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief moment before slowly opening them and focusing on the offending gleam. Recognition dawns, and hope seeps out of my body, deflating me.

It's an engagement ring, but it's not on her finger. It's hanging from a necklace she's wearing. Trying not to show the confusion I'm feeling, I set the mug down and mumble something about her not needing to pay for the tea and then pointing to the milk, sugar, and lemon I also brought, because I didn't know how she likes her tea.

My spirits lift a bit when she gives me another half-smile, slightly bigger than last week's smile. When I return her smile, her cheeks flush again, this time more than the last.

_She must be coming down with something._

Thinking of _Ania_ being ill bothers me more than knowing she already has someone special in her life.

Nodding my head toward her tea, I tell her I hope she feels better soon before walking, dejectedly, through the kitchen and out the backdoor.

I don't know why I'm so surprised to see her wearing an engagement ring, even if it's dangling from a chain and not on her finger. Of course she would have a boyfriend or fiancé or whatever. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I just wouldn't think someone in love would look so sad and hopeless week after week.

_I must be the biggest idiot in the world._

I don't look at _Ania_ for the rest of my shift, and I don't watch her leave as I'm bringing the bill to my last table. The pull I feel toward her is still there, though. The recent knowledge I've gained hasn't changed that one bit.

She still looks like she could use a friend, and Lord knows I could too, so if that's all I can be for her, then that's what I'll be.

The next six days are torturous. My mind is spread thin with scattered thoughts of what I should be thinking about—work, school, my daily routine—versus thoughts of _Ania_.

_Is she engaged? _

_Married? _

_If she were married, wouldn't she wear that large sparkly ring on her finger, instead of on a chain around her neck? _

_Why didn't I notice it before last Thursday? _

Jasper could tell I was really distracted at work on Tuesday, more than normal. He pulled me to the side and asked me if everything was OK. I told him it was and that I just had a lot on my mind. The look he gave me made me think that he didn't believe the line I was feeding him, but he didn't push.

Wednesday, during my classes, I was so lost in thought about _Ania,_ I didn't even notice when one of my professors had ended class. It wasn't until someone bumped into me with their bag that I was pulled out of my haze and realized I was the last one sitting in the classroom.

As I now go through my normal routine of getting ready for work, I contemplate talking to Jasper. If _Ania_ is married or engaged, he seems to be the most likely person to know. I know he instructed me to leave her be, but my mind won't rest until I know more facts about her . . . until I know what I can let myself hope for when it comes to her. I'm going to find a way to talk to Jasper.

As I poke my head inside the back door of Rose and Em's, I give the door a knock to let them know I'm there.

"Hey, Edward."

"Hey, Rose. Where's Ben and Maggie?" It doesn't escape me that the house is too quiet.

"Em had a free afternoon, so he took the kids to the zoo."

"Sounds fun."

"So, how's your week going? Any progress with your favorite customer?" This has become a normal conversation between the two of us. I almost confessed the nickname I've given her, so she'll quit calling her my "favorite customer", but I decided I didn't want to share it . . . or her. I really don't want to share _Ania_.

"I think she's engaged."

Rose's head whips around, and her eyes are large and questioning. "Really? Did you talk to her? Did she tell you that?"

"No, no, I still haven't had the nerve to talk to her, but last week, as I was walking by her table, I noticed a ring hanging around her neck. It definitely _looked_ like an engagement ring. Maybe she's married? I mean, would she wear it around her neck if she's married?" My nerves are getting the best of me, and I find myself pacing as I'm talking.

"Edward, stop. You're going to worry yourself right into the ground . . . or wear out my wood floors." Rose's hands are on my shoulders, forcing me to stay in one spot. "Listen, quit making assumptions. Remember what dad always said?"

"When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me."

"Right. So, no assuming. Wait and find out for yourself. I know it seems scary, but if this girl really means that much to you and you don't even know her name yet . . ." She pauses, her blue eyes staring at me pointedly. "You owe it to yourself to be patient and find out more about her."

"I'm not giving up," I confess, remembering how I felt last week when I first saw the ring—resolved. No matter what, I still want to be her friend. I want to know her. I can't just walk away and forget she exists. At this moment, I realize my life has been sectioned off by so many events, and the day _Ania_ and I walked into the same café is one. There will always be before _her_ and after _her_ . . . It's up to me to make a move and let her know how I feel. But, I'm going to have to start with talking to her.

"I'm glad you're not giving up. It's good to see there's fight left in you. When you talk about her, I see glimpses of what used to be, and I like it. I think it's a good thing."

.

.

.

That evening at work, _Ania_ slides into her booth at just a minute or two after six. We're having our first few days of cooler temperatures, and she's dressed accordingly, wearing a light gray sweater with a thin scarf wrapped around her neck. It may still be seventy degrees outside, but to us southerners, that's cold.

The few times I walk past her table, I try to see if I can catch a glimpse of the ring again, but she must have it tucked into her sweater. I also notice there's nothing on the ring finger of her left hand, which is something I've been thinking about since last week. I thought maybe I had overlooked it.

The wanting to know is starting to gnaw at my insides. I feel questions on the tip of my tongue, and it's killing me that I can't slide into the booth across from her and say, _"Hi. My name is Edward. Is this seat taken?"_ The old me would've done that.

At almost eight o'clock, I notice _Ania_ is still sitting in her booth. My shift will be ending in a few minutes, and I wonder at her being here longer than normal. The journal she usually has in front of her has been replaced with an actual book. She's been preoccupied with the words on the pages all night, and I'm guessing she's so wrapped up in the story, she's lost track of time.

As I walk back toward the kitchen to put my apron up, I notice Jasper sliding into the booth across from her, casually, without any fanfare. She lifts her head to look at him, and a lovely smile breaks across her face. It's not one of those smiles that reaches the eyes, but it's the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long, long time, and my chest aches.

Bringing my hand up to rub the tightness away, I feel a flash of something else as Jasper reaches across the table and puts his hand on hers. I know this feeling. It's been a while, but there's no denying what's coursing through my body this very moment is pure, unadulterated jealousy.

I don't waste another second, afraid my emotions will get the best of me, and I'll end up making a scene or saying something I'll regret later. I walk quickly through the kitchen doors, slamming my apron down on the counter, before walking out the back.

I can't get my bike unlocked fast enough, and I pedal hard and fast until I'm pulling into the driveway. Normally, I go into the main part of the house and warm up leftovers Rose leaves for me, but tonight, I head straight for my apartment. The need to be alone and release the gamut of emotions I'm feeling is taking me over.

I want to scream. Why was that so easy for Jasper? _Why_ can't I make my brain work right? _Why_ can't I do that? _Why_ can't I be the one to make her smile like that? _Why_ does it have to be so hard? _Why_ does everything have to be a struggle?

Skipping all of my normal nightly routines, I fall face first into my bed, muffling my outburst of frustrations into my pillow until my throat feels raw and the tension in my chest eases. At some point, I drift off into an unrestful sleep.

Upon waking the next morning, my head is throbbing, and I consider skipping class. Because I missed a day a couple of weeks ago after ending up on Bourbon Street with a migraine, I know I can't afford to. Fortunately, it feels like a regular, run-of-the-mill headache, so hopefully, a hefty dose of Tylenol should do the trick.

I time it just right so that I miss my sister and Emmett. They both have work, which means Maggie and Ben are with my mom. I normally rush around so I can spend at least a few minutes with them, but after the night I had, I'm sure I look like shit, and I don't feel like fielding a bunch of questions, especially regarding _Ania_.

Seeing her interact with Jasper last night was too much. After spending the last few weeks wanting nothing more than a casual conversation with her, watching someone else get that instead of me made me see red. I'm sure it was completely platonic. Jasper is married and he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would cheat on his wife, especially in his own restaurant, but my mind is an irrational place. I still feel the slight pang of jealousy sitting heavy in my stomach.

For the next few days, I try to put all of my focus on my classes and catch up on my school work. Being so caught up in _Ania_ has definitely put me behind, and if I'm ever going to do more than just go to school and work, I've got to learn how to balance everything. Prioritize, as Dr. Gerandy would say.

By Tuesday, I don't feel as worked up as I did when I left work last Thursday. When I walk through the back door, Eric tells me Jasper is up front and wants to speak to me.

_Oh, shit._

"Hey," I say, trying to sound casual.

"Hey," Jasper says, looking up and acknowledging me. He gathers some papers he'd been working on and stacks them in a neat pile to the side. "Been a pretty slow day. Thought I'd get caught up on some of the less-fun part of this job." He drapes his arm casually over the back of the seat as he pulls on the yellow strap of his suspenders, his eyebrow quirked. "So, what's up? How's life?" he asks, his demeanor casual, but I feel like I'm walking into a firing range. I'm afraid he's going to put me on blast for the few almost-incidents regarding a long-haired brunette that often sits at the booth behind him, and my nerves are about to get the best of me.

_Maybe I should just come clean and confess my sins? _

_No, stupid idea._

"Uh, good, I guess." I finally respond as I fidget with my apron, retying the string around my waist, trying not to freak out.

Jasper motions for me to have a seat across from him, so I do, taking a deep breath in and exhaling, practicing the techniques Dr. Gerandy has taught me. N_ot working._

"So, you've been here for what, a little over a month now? How do you like working here?"

"I like it." I nod my head, but my eyes are focused on the table in front of me. When I realize I'm not making eye contact, I quickly look up and try again. "I _really_ like my job," I tell him with all sincerity, making sure to look him directly in the eyes.

"Good, good. Well, we really like having you on board, and I just wanted to tell you I think you're catching on pretty well. So, how's school going? Are you keeping your grades up?"

"Did Rose call you?" I question, because I'm trying to figure out exactly what's going on. He did say I'm doing a pretty good job, so I'm guessing he's not firing me. _Hopefully_. And he hasn't brought up _Ania_ . . . yet.

Jasper laughs as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, similar to how he was the other night when he was talking to _Ania_. "No. Surprisingly, and sadly, enough, Rose and I don't talk nearly as much as we used to." His eyes drift down to the table as he works over a piece of paper in his hand, a far off smile covering his face. "Man, the four of us were pretty inseparable in college, but times change, ya know? Getting old sucks."

Now it's my turn to laugh, because I don't even think of Jasper as being old. "So, who's_ the four_?" I ask, enjoying the ease of the conversation.

"Oh. Well, back in the day, me, Ali, your sister, and Em were like the four compadres. We did everything together. Of course, as we got out of our gen ed classes, we all started taking different paths, but we still met up at least once a week for dinner or drinks. Since we graduated college, and Em and Rose went and had babies, we never seem to have the time to get together anymore. Plus, Ali and I both run our own business, and that's time consuming."

"Ben and Maggie are great, though," I tell him, never missing a chance to brag about my niece and nephew.

"Yeah, I'm embarrassed to say I haven't seen them since they were babies." He cringes and looks ashamed.

"Well, maybe Rose and Em will bring them in sometime."

"Yeah, I finally feel like I'm not messing up every order."

"We all make mistakes. So, don't worry about the small stuff. I haven't fired you yet, have I?" he asks, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. I let out a nervous laugh in response to his rhetorical question, feeling grateful he's so easy going.

"So, do you have any questions or concerns?"

"Uh, no. I don't guess."

"OK, good." He stands from his seat and I do the same, following his lead, slapping me lightly on the shoulder as he passes.

I mentally kick myself, wishing I could just come out with it and ask him about _Ania._ But it's like my tongue is tied, and the next thing I know, he's made his way back to the office, and I'm standing in the middle of the dining room alone.

.

.

.

As I walk back from my Wednesday afternoon class, I'm already thinking about _Ania_ and the fact I'll see her again tomorrow. Deep in thought, I nearly run over the lady who sells flowers on the street corner.

"Flowers for your lady?" she asks, holding a long-stemmed bloom in my direction. It's petals exotic, branching out in every direction. I notice the unique flower matches her—covered in bright reds, blues, and oranges.

"I—I don't have a lady," I say, attempting to walk around her.

"A handsome fella like you doesn't have a lady?" she asks, her pale grey eyes doubling in size with surprise. "Maybe you don't have a lady because you haven't given her one of these." Her tone is suggestive as she twirls the flower between us.

* * *

><p><em>My dad climbs back into the front seat of the Impala, popping the caps off the three beer bottles he has in his hand and letting them fall to the floor of the garage before he shuts the door and disperses the beer.<em>

"_I figured now'd be a good time for you to have your first beer. Besides, it wouldn't be fair for Emmett and me to drink one in front of you, and Lord knows we need one after all the hard work we've done today. Just don't tell your mama."_

_I guess now would also be a bad time to tell him I've had my fair share of beer . . . among other things._

"_Uh, thanks, Dad." I try to make my words sound grateful and privileged, like this is a really big deal, because it is. I'm sitting in the front seat of my Dad's Impala, and if I turned that shiney key over in the ignition, this baby would purr to life. The three of us have been working practically every weekend over the last few months to get this thing running. _

_A year late, but who's counting? Actually me, that's who. This car means everything . . . It's a dream come true, for me and my dad. And it's freedom, because now I won't have to ask to borrow anyone's car. _

"_She's a beauty," Emmett says from the backseat._

"_Hey, don't spill your beer in my car." I see him in my rear view mirror. His lips smirk around the mouth of his beer bottle before his hand comes up to slap the back of my head._

"_I think your old man and I have just as much right to this thing as you do!"_

"_Whatever, dude! This baby is mine!"_

_My dad is chuckling from the passenger seat. "Was it worth the wait?"_

"_Hell, yes," I tell him, running my hands along the steering wheel, soaking it in._

"_So, who's gonna be the first lucky girl?"_

_I about spit my sip of beer out. "Dad, seriously?"_

"_I meant, who's the first lucky girl who get's to ride?"_

_Emmett is practically laid over laughing in the backseat. _

"_Hey, man! Don't spill your beer!" I'm really starting to get pissed. Between my dad and Emmett, they're just too much sometimes, constantly making sexual innuendos and references. It's not that I'm a prude or anything, but the last thing I want is to have another sex talk with my dad. One is enough, thank you very much._

_My dad clears his throat before starting again. "OK, Edward. Who will be the first lovely lady you pick up for a date and allow to ride in your car?" _

_I glance over and see him trying to keep his composure, while Emmett is attempting to camouflage his laughs with coughs. "I don't know. There is this one girl—" I start but don't finish. There's no way I can admit to them that I don't know how to ask this girl out. They'll never let me live that down._

"_And?" my dad encourages._

"_Nothing."_

"_What?" Emmett asks._

"_Nothing! You'll think I'm stupid."_

"_Edward, you can tell us."_

"_Well, she's this girl in my grade, and I've been wanting to ask her out for a while but just wasn't sure exactly how to—uh, you know . . ."_

"_Ah, yes. The first proposal."_

"_Dad! I'm not proposing!" I know my eyes probably look like they're about to pop out of my head, and Emmett is laughing in the back seat again, no longer trying to cover anything up._

"_Not marriage, Edward. Courtship." He says it so matter-of-factly, but it sounds ridiculous._

"_Courtship?" Now I'm the one falling over laughing. "Dad, seriously. That's so 1950!"_

"_Edward, courtship is a lost art, and trust me, if you can master it, girls—and their parents—will be eating out of the palm of your hand." His voice gets lower as he continues, like he's giving me the directions to the Holy Grail. "It's all about wooing a girl. You can't just ask a girl out, you've gotta sweep her off her feet."_

"_Well, I don't know how to do any of that."_

"_Which is why I'm going to tell you."_

_I notice Emmett leaning up against the back of the seat. He's suddenly all ears, like he needs any of this. My sister is already eating out of the palm of his hand. Emmett McCarty can do no wrong in her book. It's disgusting._

"_First, always be yourself. Anything else is second rate," he begins, talking low and slow, like we're on an undercover mission. "Second, make her laugh. Girls love to laugh, and it puts them at ease. Always dress to impress. I'm not saying you've gotta wear shirts and ties or any of that bullshit, but don't look like you just rolled outta bed. Always compliment her. But not just any compliment. Make them specific to her. Which brings me to my next topic: listen. You've gotta listen to the girl, Edward. Make her feel like she's the only girl in the world. Like you only have eyes for her . . . and you should only have eyes for her," he says seriously, giving me the look. _

"_Got it."_

"_I'm not kidding. None of this funny business. And that especially goes for you, McCarty!"_

"_Sir, yes, sir," Emmett says, saluting._

_I start to snicker, but my dad levels me with another glare, and I immediately get in line._

"_Be confident when you're around her. Even if you don't feel confident, act confident. Girls like it when a guy is sure of himself. It makes them feel safe."_

_Emmett and I both nod._

"_Be honest, always look her in the eyes, and find a way to make her smile on a daily basis."_

"_How?"_

"_Anything. Write her a poem, or give her a compliment."_

"_I am not writing a poem," I tell him. That Shakespeare shit is for the birds._

"_Well, then buy her flowers. Girls love flowers. But," he says, pausing, holding up a finger. "You can't just buy any flower. You do that and the girl will know you're taking the easy way out. You've gotta find out what her favorite flower is, and if you don't know, then you need to guess . . . Try to find one that makes you think of her, something that's unique to her. Whatever you do, don't overuse the flowers. Give them to her when she's least expecting it. That's when they'll have the biggest impact."_

_We sit there for a few minutes, soaking in all of my dad's wisdom. The pale light of the moon is the only thing lighting up the garage._

"_Start this baby up. We never did check to see if the eight-track still works."_

_I turn over the engine as he pulls a box of cassettes out from under his seat. He pulls one out of its case and pops it in. The soulful blues of Otis Redding flow through the speakers as we sit back and listen to him croon about trying a little tenderness._

* * *

><p>On my way to work the next morning, I make a point to stop where the lady who wears the bright colors always stands . . . purchasing a single blue iris.<p>

"Such a thoughtful choice," she muses, handing me the flower as I hand her my five dollars. The wink she gives me in exchange tells me she remembers me. Smiling, I silently thank her.

Last night after I got home, I spent some time researching the meaning of different flowers and found that the iris has a significant history in Greek mythology, acting as a link between heaven and earth. It also symbolizes faith and hope.

It's perfect for _Ania_.

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jenny Kate: **So, looks like he's got a plan. I know sometimes it seems like it's one step forward and two steps back, but he really is making progress.

**Jiff**: We have some big things happening soon, so don't give up on us OR Edward!

**Jenny Kate:** It's so important that we stay true to the characters and the tempo of the story. You guys have no idea how bad we just want y'all to know EVERYTHING! LOL. This story has definitely been a lesson in patience for us.

**Jiff**: If you think you're impatient for more, we have you beat by about a gazillion! What's really frustrating is when we get excited for you to read a particular part but then realize it's not time to post that chapter yet! I think that happens every week, in fact. LOL

**Jenny Kate:** True facts! We're constantly having to remind ourselves what chapter we're posting and what that chapter is about, so we don't give anything away!

**Jiff**: This does NOT mean, however, that you should try and trick info out of us! *side-eyes the Jiffy Kate FB group*

**Jenny Kate: ** Yeah, no taking advantage of our impatience or senility! ;) We would like to thank all of our new readers, old readers (and we don't mean in age), and everyone in between! The reviews, recs, and favs on this story have been great! All of those things are fuel for our writing fire and encouragement that lets us know we're doing something right! So, thank you!

**Jiff**: And, as always, HUGE thanks to TEAM JIFFY KATE: Geeky, Lynsey, Katie, and Amy! We love you ladies hard!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Walking in the back door of the cafe, I'm relieved when I see the only person in the kitchen is Eric, the cook, and he has his back to me. I slip _Ania_'s flower in a glass of water and tuck it behind a large stack of plates on the shelf. I'm a few minutes early but decide to get to work anyway. The busier I stay, the faster the next three hours will pass. It's going to be hard to keep my nerves in check, but I have the same feeling rise up inside me that I've experienced more than a few times since _Ania_ walked into my life—resolve.

_I'm going to do this._

With a bit of pep in my step, I begin my daily duties. I wrap extra silverware and put place settings out at each chair while I wait on my tables to fill up. When some of my regular customers begin to trickle in, I greet them with a new sense of confidence, already predicting what they'll order. I've worked here for over a month now, and I finally feel like I'm getting the hang of this.

When the clock in the kitchen shows it's almost six, I sneak the flower from the glass behind the plates and place it on my tray. I think Angela might notice, but she doesn't say anything, only gives me an encouraging smile as she passes me on her way back into the kitchen.

"Order up!" Eric yells.

I quickly place the plates on my tray and make my way back into the main part of the café. Ania could very well be sitting at her table the next time I turn around, so if I want to give her the flower without making a complete and utter fool of myself, I've got to do it now. Carefully, I set the tray of food down on the edge of her table and gently place the blue iris just so, right in front of where _Ania_ always sits, the seat facing the door and closest to the window. After nudging it around, trying to make it perfect, I finally walk away, hoping it has the right effect.

_What if she hates flowers? _

_What if she thinks someone else left it there? _

_Or what if she doesn't realize it's from me? _

The panic starts to rise, but I tamp it down, concentrating on slow, even breaths and the possibility of seeing her smile. If that's the only thing I receive from this gesture, it'll be enough.

After I deliver the plates to my other table, I turn around and see _Ania_ still hasn't arrived, but the iris is sitting where the sun coming through the window hits it perfectly. It's beautiful, just like her. I think my dad would be proud.

I'm in the kitchen when I hear the bell on the front door chime. Quickly but quietly, I crack open the swinging door to take a peek. It's like my soul knows when she's near. I grip the door tightly, bracing myself for whatever comes next—gratitude, surprise, happiness, rejection.

She has her head bent down as she walks toward the table, almost as if she's on autopilot, stepping to the side to avoid a chair, until she abruptly stops. Her head snaps up, and she looks at the table for what feels like minutes and then turns to look around the café, waiting for someone to take ownership of the object that's intruding her personal space. I close the door a little more, only leaving a slight crack, because I'm not ready for her know it's me . . . yet.

Maybe she already does.

I walk out the back door, allowing myself a few minutes of deep breathing and trying to center myself.

_I did it._

Of course, I've yet to talk to her and let her verbally know how I feel, but I made a step, and right now, it feels huge.

Steadying myself, I make my way back into the café to check on my tables and try to decide how to handle the flower situation. When I push my way through the kitchen door, though, _Ania_ takes care of it for me by turning around in her seat and blinding me with a smile. It's real and genuine, better than the one she gave Jasper the day he talked to her. It almost reaches her eyes, and I can't help but smile back at her. The blush that creeps up on her cheeks makes mine heat up just the same. I feel like a chameleon in her presence. What she feels, I feel. The pull she's had on me since day one is even stronger as she makes direct, intentional eye contact. I swear, the smile she's still wearing says more than a thousand words. I wish I could take a picture or commission a painting so that I could remember this moment for the rest of my life.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, my section stays extremely busy, and to my surprise and the surprise of my co-workers, I manage it without spilling or breaking anything. The bad part is, I only get to catch passing glimpses of _Ania_, but her entire demeanor seems lighter. Even though I can't see her face most of the night, I notice her shoulders aren't quite so hunched over. The few times I do get the privilege of seeing her face, it looks pleasant, not a full on smile, but not nearly as sad as it's been in the past. It makes me feel good, because I feel like I had a part in making her happier, which makes me happier.

When she stands to leave, I hold my ground at the table I'm bussing. Normally, I'd hightail it to the kitchen to take refuge and keep from embarrassing myself. But tonight, I can't. I can't miss any opportunity to see her. I need it like I need the air I'm breathing.

_Oh, shit. Breathe. _

She shoulders her backpack and picks up the flower from the table, leaving a folded piece of paper in its place. On her way out, she pauses for a moment and gives me another smile, bringing the flower up to her nose and inhaling. When she nears the door, she dips her head and glances back over her shoulder, giving me one last look before disappearing out of sight.

I don't know how long I stand there, but my feet feel glued to the floor, either unable to move or not wanting to. I want her to come back so we can do that all over again.

When the small piece of paper on her table catches my eye, it brings me out of my trance, and I nearly trip over my own two feet trying to get to it as quickly as possible. My hands are shaking as I unfold it, making sure not to tear it. The pale pink paper is familiar, and I realize it's probably a piece from her journal.

Even if there were no words, I'd still feel like she gave me a piece of herself, but there are.

Five little words: _When words escape, flowers speak. _

In that moment, I feel like she understands me, and it's the best I've felt in a long, long time.

.

.

.

During the next six days, I cling to the small piece of pink paper. If it's not in my pocket, it's on my nightstand, and if it's not on my nightstand, it's under my pillow. It's become my lucky charm of sorts—the physical representation that I took the first step, and _Ania_ met me halfway.

I've had the best week since I can remember. My mind has been clearer, I've felt stronger, and emotionally, I've been in control. I'm trying not to put too much emphasis on seeing _Ania_ again today, but the truth of the matter is, I feel like I owe a lot of my good week to her. She's given me something to look forward to, and I want to be able to tell her how I feel. Granted, I probably shouldn't do that tonight. I should probably start with something less scary like, "Hi, my name is Edward."

The first three hours of my shift are the hardest, but I use the time to mentally prepare myself to talk to _Ania_. If nothing else, I decide I'm going to go up to her and ask if I can get her anything. It's a start. And hopefully, since it's part of my job, it won't feel too awkward.

_I can do this. I'm going to do this._

Filling an empty glass here, serving an order there, and watching the clock in between—that's how I spend the minutes leading up to _Ania's_ arrival. I get caught up fixing an order that was wrong, and when I notice that six o'clock has come and gone, my heart begins to beat faster.

_She'll be here._

Jasper asks me to help Jessica with a large group that's come in for a birthday celebration. The added responsibilities keep me busier than usual, and when I get a chance to look at the clock in the kitchen again, it's a quarter past six. _She's never late._ I nearly run out of the kitchen with the tray of water glasses to see if she's somehow slipped into her booth without my noticing, but she's not there. It's empty.

I help Jessica take everyone's order, and when we're headed back to the kitchen to turn them in, I notice that someone else is sitting in her booth.

I want to yell at them and tell them to get out, but I can't. I look around the café, searching for her. Maybe she decided to sit somewhere else today.

_She'll be here, right? She has to be. She's always here. _

_But what if she doesn't come? What then? _

_How will I ever get the chance to talk to her?_

_What if something happened to her? _

_What if she got freaked out about the flower after she left? Maybe she thinks I'm a stalker or something. Oh, shit. What have I done? _

I take one more look around, and there's no sign of her. No long dark hair. No crumpled leather backpack. No brown journal with pale pink pages. No sad eyes.

_She's not here. _

I finish my shift, but the heaviness that replaces the levity from earlier is overwhelming. I feel like I can hardly put one foot in front of the other as I make my way out the back door, blindly acknowledging someone telling me bye as I leave.

I'm not sure where to go or what to do, but I don't want to go home.

Once I'm out in the night air, I breathe deeply, trying to calm the panic that's been rising ever since _Ania_ didn't show, but I can't. It feels as though the breath is stuck in my throat. I try to think of who to call or where to go, and only one place feels right. Kicking the stand on my bike, I take off until I'm standing in front of the large iron gates.

I haven't been here in a while, but it doesn't take me long to find what I'm looking for. As I approach the wooden bench, I sit down and pull out the note from _Ania_, reading over the words for the hundredth time.

_When words escape, flowers speak._

Last week, I had been so sure we were at the precipice of something. I didn't know what, but I knew the smile she gave me was enough to allow me the confidence I needed to talk to her.

"I was going to talk to her," I whisper out into the open air. "I felt like I was making you proud for the first time in a long time . . . following your advice . . . but she didn't show tonight. What if I've messed this up, or even worse, what if something happened to her?"

I stand up and lean into the dark grey piece of stone, my fingers gliding over the engraved words. These words don't even come close to saying what's important. How can you put a person's life into such few words?

"I miss you, Dad. If you were here, you'd know exactly what to do."

* * *

><p>"<em>Dad," I sob, letting my tears fall on the headstone, "I know you were sick these last two years, but I still wasn't prepared for this . . . I wasn't ready to let you go." My chest hurts so bad it feels like it's going to crack open as I let out the anguish I feel inside. "Thank you for being my biggest supporter . . . and thank you for holding on until the twins were born. I can't believe they're going to miss out on you . . . on your jokes . . . and your good advice. What am I going to do without you here? I already feel like I'm drowning, and it's only been 28 days."<em>

_I breathe hard. I'm not sure what a panic attack feels like, but I might be having one. _

"_What am I supposed to do?"_

_I wait, but I'm just met with silence. Occasionally, the wind picks up and whistles through the trees, but there's no one to talk back to me. My words are lost in the breeze._

"_I just needed to talk to someone, and I didn't know where else to go. I don't think I can do it anymore—football, school—nothing feels right anymore." My voice cracks and catches in my throat with vivid memories of my dad infiltrating my mind, but I keep going. "I remember th-the talk we had that one time, and you told me my grades were more important than tossing a ball down the field. I thought you were crazy, but it's like you knew . . . like always, you knew something I didn't." The anger I feel sometimes when I realize he's gone for good comes erupting from deep within. "Everything feels so overwhelming right now. I feel like I could just snap at any moment, but I _can't_. Mom needs me." _

_The light mist that had started when I got here picks up, and drops of rain bounce off of the thick cold stone._

"_I want to make you proud. I want to be able to take care of Mom instead of her taking care of me. I need to be there for her. That's what you would want more than anything. Rose has Emmett and the babies, but mom needs me."_

_I pound my fist into the stone because I'm so pissed. I'm mad at everything and everyone—my dad for leaving me, the universe for taking him away, my coach for being on my case, and myself for not being able to handle it all._

"_Tell me what to do, Dad. Give me some kind of sign. Please!"_

_My body feels like it's weighed down, and I can't fight it anymore, so I lie down on the grass in front of his grave, allowing my tears to mix into the damp ground beneath me. Somewhere in the midst of being asleep and awake, the wind begins to blow, swirling the dead leaves on the ground up and around. I roll over onto my back and look up at the gray sky above, still searching for answers, when the thick clouds part, and a small ray of sunshine fights its way through. The brief break in the clouds warms my face, and I close my eyes, soaking it in. I don't know how, but I feel it—I feel him—and I know what I need to do. I'm so sure of it. It's almost as if he's standing beside me, telling me in person._

_I scramble to my feet, unable to move fast enough. The urgency of what I now know I need to do propels me. I jump in the Impala and peel out on the gravel path leading to the main road out of the cemetery. _

_Twenty minutes later, I pull into the field house parking lot and run into the building._

_Knocking once, I let myself into Coach's office and plop down in the chair across from the desk. He looks at me over the top of his glasses, a little startled, but like he might be expecting me._

"_Coach, I quit."_

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jiff:** So…that happened…

**Jenny Kate**: I think a few of you had noticed that we only mentioned Carlisle in past tense, but for those of you who hadn't noticed that, this might have been a bit of a shock. At this point in the story (current time), Carlisle has been gone about three years.

**Jiff**: So sad. We've never killed off Carlisle before. *sniff* What did everyone think of Ania's reaction to the flower?

**Jenny Kate**: Were you guys surprised that she didn't show or did you see that one coming? We'd love to hear your thoughts about this chapter.

**Jiff**: We'll keep these a/ns short and sweet and let you absorb what you learned in this chapter. Thanks, as always, to Team Jiffy Kate: Geeky, Lynsey, Katie, and Amy! I just realized, also counting JK, I'm the only Team Jiffy Kate member whose name doesn't end in an "E" sound. LOL Sorry, this is how my brain works late at night! Have a great weekend, everyone! MWAH


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

_Knock, knock, knock._

My eyes slowly open and scan my bedroom, trying to find what's making that knocking sound.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Edward, are you awake?"

Crap. It's my mom. Why is she here?

"Edward, it's two in the afternoon. Can I come in?"

Double crap. I slept until two? What day is it?

I grab my phone off the nightstand and push the 'home' button, groaning when I realize it's Sunday. My mom is going to kill me for missing church.

"Yeah, Mom. I'm coming. Hold on a sec."

Jumping out of bed, I throw a tee shirt on and run to the bathroom to quickly brush my teeth. When I finally open my front door, I see my mom standing in front of me with her hands on her hips and her right toe tapping. Yep, I'm dead.

"Mom, I—"

The air is practically knocked out of me as she pulls me into one of her bone-crushing hugs.

"I was so worried about you."

Her voice trembles with anxiety, and I feel her desperation in the grip she has on the back of my shirt.

I'm a horrible son.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," is all I can manage before I break down. My mom is the only person who has this effect on me. She loves me so unconditionally, I feel no shame crying in her arms like I did when I was a little boy. Somehow, we make it to my tiny couch, and her arms never stop holding me. Esme Cullen may be a small woman, but her hugs are so enormous, they block out the rest of the world in an instant, allowing me to just…be.

After a few minutes, I get control of my emotions and sit up, wiping my face on my shirt sleeve.

"How'd you know to come check on me?" I ask.

"Edward, a mother knows when something is wrong with her child. Besides, Rose said she hadn't seen or spoken to you since Thursday. I tried to give you space, but when you didn't show up for church or lunch afterward, I knew it was time to beat your door down." She gives me a small smile as she pats my knee. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

I sit back and let my body sink into the couch cushions. Even though I've done nothing but mope and sleep for the last two days, I still feel exhausted.

"I talked to Dad the other day."

"Oh, really? It must've been really important. You haven't been to the cemetery in almost a year."

"How do you do it, Mom? How do you…move on?"

"Let me make something very clear. I have _not_ moved on, and I'm not _over_ the loss of my husband."

"I didn't mean to imply—"

"I know what you meant, but let me finish. I'll never get over losing your daddy. I'll miss him every day of my life, but I can't put my life on hold either. I have to live. We _all_ have to keep living. Your dad would be some kind of pissed if he knew we were wasting precious moments here curled up in a ball, feelin' sorry for ourselves."

I know she's right. It hurts to hear, but she's absolutely right. Dad hated when people focused on the negative side of things.

"I also know that all of this doesn't have to do with missing your dad. So, what else has you so worked up?"

"There's a girl."

"I thought there might be," she replies, and I can't help but snicker.

I tell my mom everything that's happened between _Ania_ and me since the day of my job interview, and she listens intently. When I'm finished spilling my guts, we sit in silence for a few moments.

"So, you were worried when this girl didn't show up on Thursday, and that's when you talked to your dad?"

"Yeah. It just felt like the right thing to do, the right place to be."

"Then it was," she assures me. "Did it make you feel better?"

"Kinda, but it also made me sad he isn't here to give me the advice I need. What do _you_ think he'd tell me?"

"Honestly?"

I nod my head and swallow the lump in my throat, not knowing what to expect.

"I think he'd tell you to piss or get off the pot, and frankly, I agree."

Ahhh, there's the Mom-brow I accused Rose of inheriting a couple of weeks ago. My sister's is good, but it still can't compare to our mom's.

After grabbing a snack and a quick shower, my mom and I take a streetcar that drops us off close to the French Quarter. As we walk to Jackson's Brewery to do some shopping, my eyes scan the people we pass. I can't stop myself from looking for _Ania_, just like I can't stop worrying about her.

I don't know what I'd do if I ever saw her outside of the café, but I'd endure whatever humiliation I'd bring on myself just to know she was okay.

Two hours later and my ass is dragging big time. When my mom heads into what she says will be "the last store, I promise", I find a nearby bench to rest on while I wait on her.

"Edward, is that you?"

A mild panic arises in me as I search for the person speaking. Not many people outside of work or my family talk to me, so I'm even more surprised to see an old but familiar face smiling at me.

"Hey, Ethan. How are you?"

"I'm good, man. Whatcha been up to?"

"Just the usual. School, work…you know," I utter with a shrug.

"Well, you look great." He says this like he's surprised, like he was expecting me to be disfigured or something. Instinctively, I make sure my hair is covering as much of my scar as it can.

"Uh, thanks."

"My mom said she saw your mom with the twins the other day at the French Market. Sounds like everyone is doin' good…I'm glad." He smiles at me, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, guilt and regret still holding it down.

"Yeah, we're doing as well as we can be. You know, good days and bad," I reply honestly.

"That's great, man. Listen, I'm glad I ran into you. Let's hang out sometime, alright?"

"Sure, that sounds good," I agree, even though we both know it'll never happen.

When Ethan walks away, I'm hit with nostalgia, remembering when it wasn't so awkward between us.

* * *

><p>"<em>Dude!"<em>

"_Ethan! Man, when did you get back in town?"_

_Laughing, he slaps my back. "My plane landed a couple of hours ago. You know I wouldn't miss tonight. Watching the sorority pledges being introduced on Greek Row? Hells, yeah! I can't wait to add more numbers to my little black book. I mean, as a junior, it's my collegiate duty to welcome and help any and all fresh-meat, I mean, freshman to Tulane University." Ethan places his right hand over his heart as if he's saying The Pledge of Allegiance, and I can't help but laugh at him._

_My best friend is a fucking douche, but I know, deep down, he's a good guy._

"_You see any potential yet?" he asks, nodding his head toward the large group of girls across the street._

"_Nah, I'm just hanging out because I was bored at home."_

"_Sure you are. If you're here, that means you and Lauren are broken up…again. Unless you're looking to reconcile…again."_

_Not long after my dad died and I quit the football team, I broke up with Lauren. I was still dealing with all the shit in my life while she was starting to pressure me about proposing. When high school sweethearts are together for as long as we were, especially here in the south, it's natural for them to get engaged while still in college, or so Lauren told me. She said it made perfect sense to get engaged during our sophomore year so that we'd have two years to plan our wedding, which would occur the summer after we graduate, naturally._

_I wasn't ready for that kind of commitment or organization in my life, so I kept blowing her off until one day I simply couldn't take any more. Looking back, I probably could've waited another week to dump her. I don't recommend breaking up with your girlfriend during Homecoming week, I'm just sayin'. We had a huge fight during the annual bonfire, which led to both of us getting shit-faced drunk and hooking up with strangers. I was so hung over and miserable the next day, I missed the parade and the game. Again, not a great weekend for Edward Cullen._

_Since then, Lauren and I have had a convenient on-again, off-again type of relationship, getting together when the need…arises, then cooling back off after a few weeks. I still worry about leading her on, but she says she understands that I'm still working through things and don't want to be tied down right now._

"_You know you two are gonna make it for real," Ethan continues. "I mean, you have to. You're perfect for each other."_

* * *

><p>Lauren and I did get back together, and for a while, I thought it was going to work. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, which led Lauren to show her true colors, and I've never been happier to be rid of her.<p>

For the past month or so, I've had some kind of plan for how to interact with _Ania_. Things may not have happened the way I'd hoped, but at least _something_ had happened.

This Thursday, I'm at a loss because I don't have a plan. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Zilch. I don't know what to expect because I don't even know if _Ania_ will be here at the café tonight.

Maybe I scared her off or tried too hard. It's very possible I embarrassed her or disturbed her solitude so much she decided to find a different place to sit every Thursday evening. Maybe I'll never know.

It's with a heavy and apprehensive heart that I clock in and grab my apron, ready to start my first few hours go by as they normally do. Nothing too major happens with the exception of Jessica dumping an entire tray of sweet tea on a table of four. Jasper, ever the professional, offered to pay for the group's dry cleaning while also not charging them for the food they ordered, including dessert.

"Hey, Edward! Can you help?" Angela yells at me when I walk in the kitchen to dump some dirty dishes into a tub of water to soak.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I have a party of eight, and they've all ordered bread pudding for dessert. Can you help me fix their plates?"

Knowing my current two tables will be fine if I neglect them for a few minutes, I hurry to the dessert counter, ready to help. Angela has already started scooping the bread pudding into bowls, so I proceed to pour the rum sauce on top before setting them aside. The task doesn't take long, and soon I'm carrying four of the bowls to her table. While Angela removes the desserts from my tray, my eyes roam the café, looking to see if my customers need me.

I see they're still fine, and as I start to return my tray back to the kitchen, I catch a flash of auburn in my peripheral vision, and the gravitational pull is instant.

_She's here. _Ania_ is here._

Relief washes over me, but there's something else, too. _Anger_.

Without telling them to, my feet take me directly to her table. Surprised eyes fly up to meet mine and only get wider when I speak.

"You were gone."

Her large round eyes then narrow at me, glaring, and I know I need to back the hell up.

"I—I'm sorry. You come here every Thursday, and then last week, you were gone, and I was worried. Now you're here, and I'm so glad, and now I'm rambling because I'm nervous, so I'm gonna leave you alone now."

Turning to leave, I'm stopped by the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

_Ania's_ voice.

"Edward, wait."

_She said my name. How does she know my name? _I've never been overly fond of my name, but the way it falls from her lips makes it shiny and new. I make my way back to her table and pause, because I don't know what to do next.

"How do you know my name?" My voice sounds foreign, questioning. I'm not sure why I'm so bothered by her knowing my name. Maybe it's because I still don't know hers? Maybe Jasper told her? Did she ask about me?

"It's on your name tag."

I glance down at the tag attached to my apron. _Of course._ "Oh, yeah, right . . . I forgot." My face heats up, and I can feel the embarrassment clean down to my toes. _Why am I such a moron?_

"I did see you last Thursday," she admits, her long hair falling in front of her face as she looks down at the table. I slide into the booth across from her, and her head snaps up—her eyes growing in size again—and I'm afraid she's going to ask me to leave, but she doesn't. She sits there, her gaze fixed on me, as if she's waiting for me to make the next move on an imaginary chessboard. Her eyes are dark and deep, and I know they hold secrets and stories I'd love to hear, but more than anything, I want her to keep talking to me. She could repeat the alphabet for all I care, so I tell her more in hopes she'll return the favor.

"But I waited, and you never came."

The blush that creeps up on her cheeks is something I've seen before. I assumed it was due to illness. Perhaps it has something to do with me. I don't want to get my hopes up, but I would love to think she's affected by me in the same way I'm affected by her.

"I—I didn't come here. It was later that evening. I saw you going into the cemetery. You were riding your bike. I'd been at the chapel there."

Just as I'm getting ready to respond, Jasper's presence catches my attention, and I notice he's looking our way. His eyebrows are drawn, and I can't tell if it's anger or confusion crossing his face, but either way, I know I need to get back to work.

"Could I—uh, meet you somewhere? Like on the bench in front of the café? I get off at eight o'clock." The boldness is a façade. Inside I'm freaking out. My hands are so sweaty, I run my palms down my jean-covered thighs, waiting for her response. Ten seconds feels like ten minutes as her sad brown eyes stare across the table at me, and I can tell she's really thinking it over . . . whether or not she can meet me . . . or wants to.

"OK." She nods her head slightly and bites down on her bottom lip, hiding a small smile.

That simple response has me on cloud nine.

I work fast. In my head, it seems like if I deliver food faster and bus tables faster, the time will pass faster. And the sooner I can finish my shift, the sooner I can meet _Ania_ at the bench in front of the café.

_Will she be there? _

_Does she really want to talk to me?_

As I perform my tasks, those are the questions plaguing my mind. The subtle smile she gives me every time we make eye contact is the answer. I physically have to hold myself back from walking over to her table. Now that this verbal barrier has been broken, I'm not sure if I can continue to orbit around her every Thursday without talking to her. I'm not sure how she feels about that, but the fact that she agreed to meet me after work tells me there's something there.

The look she was giving me across the table earlier was comforting. Something in her eyes was familiar, like I was looking in a mirror. It was an unspoken understanding. I still don't know any more about her, but I decided weeks ago that if all I can be is her friend, then that'll have to be good enough. It'll be hard, because I already feel my palms itch when I'm around her, wanting to reach out and touch her long brown hair, stroke her soft cheek. Friends don't do those things.

I let out a deep breath when I have my last table cleared off and see that _Ania_ is still there. She glances up at me and then to her watch on her wrist. It's five minutes until eight, and she starts putting her book away in her backpack. I take that as my cue to put my apron away and clock out. Saying my goodbyes to the kitchen crew and Angela, I slip out the back door. As I walk around the side of the building, I hold my breath until _Ania_ comes into view. Her body is turned away from me, but I can tell she's watching, waiting for me. She glances at the front door a couple of times before standing and gripping the straps of her backpack, as if she's getting antsy. When she turns around and sees me, the most amazing smile breaks across her face. The corners of her eyes wrinkle, and she looks down toward her feet as I approach.

"Hey."

"Hey."

My heart is in my throat, and all we've said to each other is a casual greeting. I don't know how I'm going to survive this. She's going to get one good look at me—the real me—and she's going to run.

"I, uh—"

"So—"

We both begin talking at the same time and break off into awkward laughs, recognizing that we have no clue what we're doing. Her insecurity is comforting, and something about it puts me at ease.

"Could I walk you home?" Somewhere deep within, I conjure up enough courage to spit out those words without tripping over them.

"Uh, well, I drove here from work," she says, pointing to a red Volkswagen Beetle in the parking lot adjacent to the café.

"Oh, right. Well, I guess I can walk you to your, uh, car." I give her a half smile and run my hands through my hair out of nervous habit.

"OK."

We walk to the corner and push the button for the crosswalk. I'm fidgeting with my backpack and trying to think of something to say when she pulls me out of my thoughts. "Edward."

"What?"

"Walk," she says from a few steps ahead of me.

I'm already screwing this up. I don't even know why I thought I could do this in the first place. Mentally berating myself, I follow behind her until we're across the street on the sidewalk.

"So, what were you doing at the cemetery?" Her boldness surprises me, and I almost stumble over an imaginary rock. "You OK?" she asks, reaching a hand out to grip my shoulder. Her touch feels like an electric shock, and it goes straight to my insides.

"Yeah, I—uh, I'm fine. Sorry. I, well . . . I went to see my dad," I admit, feeling awkward the minute the words leave my mouth. I don't talk about him with anyone except my mom and Rose, and not very often.

"I'm sorry."

I nod, unsure of what to say to that. People always say they're sorry, but they're not the ones who took him from me. Thanks to Dr. Gerandy, I know it's just people's way of expressing their sympathy and that the polite thing to say is "thank you".

"Thanks."

The late summer sun has almost completely set in the sky, casting pinks and oranges over our heads and making _Ania's_ skin take on a warm glow. She's beautiful. It's not that I haven't noticed before, but being in this close proximity to her allows me to see so much more. There's a patch of freckles along the bridge of her nose, and her lips almost look like a bow when she's thinking. Her eyes are more than just brown. They have flecks of gold and green in them as well. I could stand here and stare at her forever, but I notice the longer I do, the more the blush on her cheeks grows.

She nervously tucks one side of her hair behind her ear and clears her throat.

Trying to think of something to say to keep her here, I awkwardly blurt out, "So, why were _you_ at the cemetery?" My voice squeaks, and I screw my eyes shut, wishing I had thought of something more eloquent to say. I'm afraid if I don't say _something_, she'll retreat to her car, and I'll be forced to wait an entire week to see her again. That thought alone feels like pure torture, especially after finally getting a chance to actually talk to her.

"Well, I go there sometimes. It's peaceful. And there's a chapel there. That's where I had been last Thursday. At the chapel."

I want to ask more. _Why? Did you lose someone too? Should I apologize for something I had no control over? Are you engaged?_

That last thought has my heart speeding out of my chest. I hadn't thought about the engagement ring in a week or so. That's probably something I need to know before I allow myself to fantasize about where _this_ could go.

"Are you engaged?"

Her eyes grow in surprise, and I see her swallow hard, looking away from me before she answers. "No," she says, barely above a whisper, her arms coming around to hug her body. I know I've overstepped my boundaries—went somewhere I shouldn't have gone. The look in her eyes tells me she's shutting down—shutting me out. "I've gotta go." She turns and walks toward her car.

Desperately, I search for something to say . . . something that will fix whatever I just broke. "I'm sorry."

Her steps halt, and she slowly turns back around toward me.

"I just saw you wearing an, uh, engagement ring one time . . . and I didn't want to, uh . . . "

She graciously saves me from myself by interrupting my rambling. "I'm not engaged. I've never been engaged. I don't even have a boyfriend." A small smile replaces the sad expression she had only moments ago, and I return it to her, feeling relieved but still confused about the ring.

"Can I see you sometime? I mean, besides here?" I ask, pointing across the street to the café. "I mean, if you'd . . . never mind . . ."

"On Friday nights, I go to the Original City Diner and do homework, sometimes with friends but usually alone. If you want to stop by . . . "

As her words drift off, I nod my head in agreement, unable to find my voice. She gives me one last smile before she opens the door to her car and slips inside.

I stand on the curb and watch as she pulls safely onto the road, and I continue to watch until her tail lights fade into the distance.

_Did she just invite me to dinner? A study session? _

_Oh, shit. I'm going to see _Ania_ tomorrow._

I'm so excited, I doubt I'll sleep tonight, but for once in a long time, my insomnia won't be due to a nightmare or things that haunt me when I close my eyes. It'll be because of a beautiful girl and an invitation to meet her for homework.

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jenny Kate:** *sings* He's going to see Ania tomorrow! And they talked and smiled . . . and OMG, they're going on a "date"!

**JIff: ** YAY! *jumpy claps*

**Jenny Kate:** Sooooo, what do y'all think about the two of them?

**Jiff:** I'm sure you're all relieved to learn Ania's not engaged! LOL

**Jenny Kate:** And, she doesn't have a boyfriend! That's good news. As always, we'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

**Jiff:** A HUGE thank you to Team JiffyKate: Geeky, Lynsey, Katie, and Amy! We couldn't do this without y'all! Any mistakes are our own.

See y'all next Friday!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

"This smells amazing."

My mom came over earlier to watch the twins, and being her, she couldn't sit still while they were napping, so she started a pot of gumbo. The aroma has been filling the house for the last five hours, and now that it's finally in front of me, it can't cool fast enough. My stomach and tongue are having an argument over the appropriate temperature for food. Right now, my stomach is winning.

"You two act like you haven't eaten in days," Rose admonishes. I glance over at Emmett and see he's mimicking my approach: blow, blow, sip.

Not only am I in a hurry to eat this deliciousness in front of me, but I'm also in a hurry because I'm going to see _Ania_ tonight. She said she usually gets to the diner around eight o'clock, and I don't plan on being late. Even though it's now just a little before seven, I want to give myself plenty of time.

"You've been watching the clock all afternoon. What gives?" My mom is eyeballing me suspiciously from across the table.

"I was wondering the same thing," Rose chimes in.

Emmett snickers behind his spoon, leaving me to the wolves.

"I, uh, have plans." I leave it short and simple, hoping they'll afford me the luxury of not going into great detail about where I'm going.

"Oh, really?" Rose and my mom share the same pleasantly surprised expression.

I nod and continue cautiously devouring my gumbo, until two throats clearing from the other side of the table force me to look back up.

"What?" I ask, trying to play dumb. I glance over at Emmett, but he offers no help, just shaking his head and smirking into his steaming bowl. I silently plead with him to help me out on this one, but he stuffs his mouth with flaky bread and grins. Apparently, I'm on my own.

"Uh, I'm meeting An—." _Oh, shit. _The realization that I don't know her real name is disturbing to me. A barrage of negative thoughts enter my mind, mostly emphasizing the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing.

"You're meeting who, sweetheart?" my mom asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Uh, a friend I met at the café." I've yet to tell my mom or Rose about this. I confided in Emmett earlier today, seeking advice and just to have someone to share it with, because regardless of my nervousness and feelings of insecurity, I'm excited.

No. It's more than that. It's like the best thing that's happened since _Ania_ smiled at me. But telling my mom and Rose sets me up for a huge let down if things don't go well…and more disappointment, which no one in this family needs. They'll force me to talk about my feelings and try to assure me there will be other girls. The truth is that I don't want another girl. I want _Ania_.

_Damn it. I will find out her real name. Tonight. _

"This friend wouldn't happen to also be your favorite customer, would they?"

My silence is all the answer Rose needs. There's no getting out of this.

"Oh, Edward! I'm so proud of you! You have no idea!" While my sister gushes her praise, I look over to see my mom's eyes glisten in the warm light from the candles that are lit on the table. _This._ This is what I was trying to avoid. Them getting their hopes up and me crushing them, once again.

"Stop. Both of you." I try to use a firm tone with them, but I can't. "Please. Just don't act like it's a big deal, because it's not. She told me that she studies at The Original on Friday nights around eight o'clock, so I'm meeting her there. That's it. It's not a date or anything. It's two people being in the same place at the same time."

"On purpose," Emmett adds. So now he decides to speak.

I glare over at him.

"What? It's the truth! You can try to play this down all you want, but _you_ asked her if you could see her outside of the café. _You_ did that." He slaps my shoulder with all the proudness he can muster, like I've just announced I won the Nobel Peace Prize. As much as this scenario feels so familiar, it doesn't escape me how so much has changed.

* * *

><p>"<em>It's been awhile since we've done this," Rose says as her eyes glance around the table.<em>

"_It has, and I'm glad we're all here." The tiredness that my mom has seemed to carry for the last nine months finally seems to be lifting. The dark circles under her eyes are lighter than they've ever been, and her smile finally reaches her eyes again._

_In comfortable silence, we all begin passing bowls, allowing the familiar aromas to help heal us. This is something we used to do at least once a week before my dad passed away, but all of that went away with him. None of us could bring ourselves to do anything we had done with him. It felt wrong. It's like it doesn't work since he's not here. But for the first time in a long time, this feels like it works. Moments like this make me think that we might make it. Maybe one day the empty seat at the head of the table won't be a stark reminder of the pain we've been through this last year, but a sweet memory. Maybe. _

_I'm glad I have some good news to bring to the table. I haven't done a very good job of pulling my weight around here. I've allowed myself to wallow and drown my grief in everything under the sun, and my bad decisions have caught up with me. _

_I've been fooling myself into thinking that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, and not face consequences for them. Everyone makes excuses for you when you're grieving. _

_The letter I intercepted in the mail a few weeks ago from Tulane was definitely the wake-up call I needed. It was the slap in the face that helped me realize someone is holding me accountable. _

_My dad would be so ashamed if he saw where I was a few weeks ago . . . on a three-day bender, skipping class for days, weeks on end, ignoring calls from my family . . . slowly shitting away my life._

_But not anymore. All I have left of my dad are memories . . . and I'm going to honor those. I'm going to make him proud of me. It's the least I can do. _

_After a heart-to-heart with my advisor, I now have a plan to retake the necessary classes to bring up my GPA. He also helped me petition some of my professors to see what I can do about bringing up my grades in my current classes. _

"_I've declared a major." Everyone simultaneously puts down their forks and looks up at me with a genuine smile on their face._

"_Baby, that's great news." My mom knows the struggles I've been facing. I never let her see the letter from a few weeks ago, but she's no dummy. Even though we don't talk about it, I know she knows that I've pretty much been wasting my life away for the last nine months._

"_I'm going into the Criminal Justice program. I know it's not Pre-Law, and that's what dad would've wanted, but I feel like it's what I'm supposed to be doing. And it's something I can get into with my current GPA. Hopefully, I can work hard and bring that up . . . and maybe one day I can pursue Law." The feelings running through me are all over the place. I feel relieved, nervous, and a little bit scared. I know that even though I'm not going Pre-Law, I still have a lot of work ahead of me. It's going to take a lot to get out of the hole I've dug myself into. I also feel disappointed that I shit away an opportunity to follow in my dad's footsteps, but I can't change that. _

"_I'm really proud of you, Edward." Emmett's large hand cups my shoulder, and he pulls me into a manly side-hug. My sister sits across the table and beams at me. It feels good to make them all so proud._

* * *

><p>At a half-past seven, I'm making my way down St. Charles, even though I know it'll only take me fifteen minutes to get there. I can't be late. I wouldn't want her to think I'm not coming. A brief flash of last Thursday crosses my mind. There is a slight possibility that I'll be the one who gets stood up . . . I mean, if this were a date, which it's not.<p>

"It's two people being in the same place at the same time," I quietly repeat to myself, because it makes me feel better.

When I reach the garden level of the Lavin-Bernick Center, I begin looking for long mahogany hair. I'm trying to imagine what it will be like to see her outside of the café. It feels surreal that I'm meeting her here tonight. If I didn't know better, I'd think a marching band has taken up residence in my chest. I take deep breaths with each step, willing myself to not panic or freak out. I want this so bad.

_I can do this._

As I make my way inside the diner, I look more for _Ania_ but don't find her anywhere. There's a few girls at a table in the corner and some guy sitting by himself, but no _Ania_. I sit at the table closest to the door but then change my mind, because it seems too _out in the open_. So I stand back up and scan the room for the perfect spot. I wish I had waited to get here later. If I had let her arrive first, she would have picked our table. _Our_ table. I wonder if this could become our thing—meeting here on Friday nights.

I'm getting ready to go back outside and hide around the corner to wait for her, but then I feel her, and a second later, I hear _Ania_ call my name.

Turning around, I immediately see her. She's sort of waving at me and has a half-smile on her face, and she looks beautiful. She motions for me to follow her, so I do, almost certain that I'd follow her anywhere.

"You came," she says, her smile increasing in size.

I take it that it's a good thing I'm here, so I return her smile. "There's no place I'd rather be."

My boldness catches us both off guard. I feel the tips of my ears burning, and her cheeks are a lovely shade of pink.

She clears her throat before asking, "So, where do you normally spend Friday nights?"

"Uh, well, I—"

The waitress at our table interrupts our awkward exchange, thankfully. "What can I get y'all?"

_Ania_ orders first, and I'm surprised by the fact that she's actually eating. She never eats at the café. Not only does she order, but she does it up right, asking for a strawberry milkshake and a pancake with strawberries on top. I guess she really likes strawberries.

"And for you, Darlin'?" Sally the waitress asks, smiling down at me.

"Oh, uh, coffee." My order comes out more like a question, but she writes it down and tells us she'll be back shortly.

"You're not hungry?" _Ania_ asks. "They have the best pancakes."

"Do you always eat pancakes for dinner?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question?" Her quick retort makes me smile. Once again, I feel the need to pinch myself. _Am I really sitting across the table from her, having this conversation?_ If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up.

"I already ate . . . earlier . . . with my family."

"Do you do that a lot?" Her expression is soft but hard to read.

"Well, we usually eat together on Friday nights and Sundays after church."

"That must be really nice."

"It is. They're great." I inwardly want to slap myself for being such a dork. _They're great? Who says that?_

A few minutes of awkward silence and I'm getting ready to bolt, resigned to the fact that I'll never be able to talk to girls like I used to. Just before I make a run for it, Sally saves the day.

"One strawberry milkshake and one coffee." She winks when I look up at her and thank her. "Need cream and sugar, Sugar?"

"Uh, no . . . just black is fine."

After she walks away, _Ania_ throws her head back and laughs. It's the best sound I've ever heard. It's better than the jazz band I love to listen to down at Marketplace. It's better than the lullabye my mom used to sing to me when I was little. It's better than thousands of fans chanting my name at a football game. It's like a bowl of Lucky Charms . . . marshmallows only. I'm not sure what made her laugh, but I want to hear it every day for the rest of my life.

"She was so flirting with you." Her eyes are sparkling as she looks across the table at me.

"Who? Sally?"

"Oh, are y'all on a first name basis? Did she secretly slip you her phone number when I wasn't looking?"

"What? I, um . . . no. She wasn't flirting with me." That's ridiculous. She was just being nice. She's a waitress. Waitresses are nice. Generally.

"Yes, she was." A small smile stays on her lips as she begins taking books out of the brown leather bag I've seen a dozen times.

"Here ya go, Bella," Sally says, setting down a plate that's holding a pancake the size of my head . . . No. I take that back. It's the size of Emmett's head—huge!

_Wait. Did she say "Bella"? Is that her name? _

"You sure I can't get you anything else, Darlin'?"

"No, thank you." I can't quit staring at the girl across the table from me. She wastes no time digging into the pancake. The first bite that touches her lips makes her moan in appreciation, and I shift in my seat, adjusting myself. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

"So, your name is _Bella_?" I ask from a half-dazed state. Of course that's her name. Bella means beautiful, and she's beautiful. Why didn't I come up with that on my own? How will I ever not call her _Ania_? I wonder if she'd hate that I have my own name for her. Maybe I should keep it to myself for a while longer.

"Oh, shit! Um, yeah. I'm Bella. Have we not done this yet?" she asks, shaking her head and wiping the syrup off her lips with a napkin. "I feel like we're doing everything backwards," she says, her voice practically a whisper, like she's in awe of the situation. My feelings are mutual. I feel like I know her, but I don't. She's an anomaly . . . someone that has been the object of my attention and affection for so many weeks, yet I didn't even know her name until just a moment ago.

I nod, and she seems to know that I'm feeling the same way. Her eyes gaze out the window before slowly turning back to me. "Before you started working at the café, I would go and sit, and sometimes I wouldn't even notice that the time had passed until the lights would get turned off, and I'd have to take that as my cue to leave. No one talked to me, and I didn't talk to anyone. I mean, occasionally, I'd talk to Jasper, but that's it. Until you."

"Well, we never really talked." I have so many things I want to say and ask, but I don't know how or where to start. The last thing I want is to freak her out or make her not want to see me again.

"Yeah, but you noticed me."

Those words. I noticed her. Of course I did. How could I not have? I want to tell her that I know the second she walks into the room, not because I see her, but because I feel her. But I can't say that. That sounds like the words of a crazy person in lo–. _Stop._

"Of course I noticed you."

She stares at me for the longest time before continuing. "I noticed you, too."

"How could you not have?" I laugh, turning my own thoughts on myself. I mean, seriously. I can't believe she's sitting here in front of me, because the only thing she's seen from me is an awkward guy who almost spills things on her and breaks plates and says stupid stuff.

"Exactly." But she's not laughing. It looks as though she's breathing harder, and her cheeks flush once again. The way she fiddles with her napkin reminds me of myself. I do stuff like that when I'm nervous or anxious, and I don't want her to feel either of those things. So I try to think of some way to distract her.

"How do you know Jasper?"

The question does pull her out of the state she was in, but it doesn't relieve the tension that's etched on her face. She draws her brows closer together and bites her cheek, as if she's deep in thought. "Well, I've known him for a while, just from going into the café. It's kinda hard to not know someone when you see them once a week for three years."

I nod, trying to think of something else to say. The direction this conversation is going seems to be the wrong one. From the way she's staring out the window, I would guess that she's shutting down, putting up any wall she had dropped, retreating back inside herself.

"I really like your car."

_Ania_ turns from the window, and her eyes light up.

"It's a classic." By the way her mouth turns back up at the corners, I know I'm on to something the two of us can definitely talk about without things getting uncomfortable . . . well, for now, at least. It's not a subject I've broached for a long time, but if it makes her face light up like that, I'm willing to go there . . . for her.

"I love classic cars." I swallow the lump that's trying to force its way up my throat—the same one that's always there when classic cars are mentioned. I can't think about classic cars without thinking about _my_ classic car, and I can't think about my classic car without thinking about . . . _oh, shit_.

_Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out._

Dr. Gerandy's voice pops into my head. _"Focus on where you are and who you're with. Don't allow yourself to get swept away. Stay grounded."_

_Stay grounded._

"Edward?" _Ania's_ sweet voice sounds concerned, and I wonder how long I've been sitting here rubbing my temples.

"I'm sorry."

"It's OK. Are . . . are you OK?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying?"

"What is your favorite?" She sounds unsure of herself.

"I really love cars from the '60s and '70s. Great solid bodies and timeless designs."

The twinkle in her eye is back. "Me too."

"I really love the mechanicalness of them—taking them apart and putting them back together, knowing everything about them from the hood to the tires." She nods in agreement with a daydreamy look on her face.

From there, our conversation falls into an easy cadence. She asks questions and I answer, and then we switch. We both skirt around issues or topics that we can tell upset the other. For instance, even though classic cars are a passion of _Ania's_, she doesn't like talking about it that much. There's something there that causes her pain, but I can't put my finger on it. She _does_ love strawberries and café au lait. Her favorite singer is Ray LaMontagne, and she's studying sociology.

One of the things I love about talking to _Ania_ is she doesn't make me feel like a freak or a weirdo. She's patient and allows me time to think about what I want to say without pressing for more information. The same feeling from last night floods my mind, and again, it's as if I'm staring in a window, seeing my reflection.

For an hour or so, we sit in comfortable silence, each of us lost in our school work, until she looks at her watch and sees that it's almost eleven o'clock.

"I, uh, should probably get home."

"Yeah, I guess it is getting late." I know it's getting late. I can feel my body tiring, but the adrenaline that's been running through me since last night, coupled with the few cups of coffee I've had here, are keeping me artificially fueled.

As we walk out of the diner, I see Sally smile our way. The way her eyes are assessing me, it makes me wonder if _Ania_ is right. I wave and smile, my cheeks burning under her scrutiny.

"Told you," _Ania_ teases from a couple of steps behind me.

I smile and shake my head as I hold the door open for her.

She looks up at me on her way out. "Thank you."

"Thank _you,_" I reply, walking closely beside her. I have no desire to leave her company, but I know I have to.

"What are you thanking me for?"

"For allowing me to join you tonight."

"It was really great. I, uh . . . I'm really glad you came."

"Me too."

The campus is relatively quiet, and the cool of the fall is upon us. I look around, wondering how she got here or if she lives close enough to walk. When will I see her again?

"I live this way," she says, pointing over her shoulder. "On campus. I walked here."

"Could I . . . Can I walk you home?" If she tells me no again, I'll be forced to follow her, because I won't be able to rest not knowing whether or not she made it safely. And I don't think she's ready to give me her phone number, although I'd like to have it.

"OK," she says, smiling, but the nervous fidget she had earlier is back, so I keep an arm's length distance between the two of us and follow her lead toward her dorm.

"Do you live close?" she asks as we make our way across the open lawn. The dew is already sticking to the blades of grass and my exposed feet.

"Yeah, just fifteen minutes away. Not bad."

"Do you always walk everywhere you go?"

"Yeah or ride my bike."

She nods her head, and I can sense more questions, but she doesn't ask them. We pass a group of guys walking in the opposite direction. I notice them notice her, and I'm relieved that I took the chance and asked to walk her home. She slows as we approach her dormitory, adjusting the straps on her backpack and looking everywhere but at me.

"Can I see you again sometime? I mean, outside of the café?" I ask.

"I'd like that."

"OK."

"OK. But I'm really busy for the next week or so. I have mid-terms to get ready for . . . and . . ."

I can tell she's struggling, with what I'm not sure, but I want to help her.

"It's OK. Will I at least see you at the café?" It's not OK, but I can't tell her that. I'll just have to be patient and appreciate the time I get.

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"I'll see you then."

"Good night."

"Good night."

I stand glued to the spot and watch her disappear inside the building. She turns around once and gives a small wave when she sees me still standing here, but I can't make my feet move until she's completely out of sight.

On my way home, I replay every moment of our time together . . . and begin counting down the seconds until I'll see her again.

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jiff: **Yay! They had their study date and made plans to see each other again! And Edward knows her REAL name...FINALLY! LOL.

**Jenny Kate:** Yes! Some of you were so worked up over that in the reviews from the last chapter! He just needs time...and a flirty waitress like Sally to show him the way! ;) I know this Edward is a bit (sometimes a lot) awkward and unsure of himself, but he's swoony to me. Anybody else?

**Jiff**: *raises both hands* Me! I lurve him so much!

**Jenny Kate: **And I know he has his setbacks, but I feel like he's slowly, but surely finding himself. Maybe not the old him, but a new him that he's comfortable with.

**Jiff**: I think his heart is so pure and, although he has secrets, he's very transparent and honest. Plus, I still want to cradle him to my bosom.

**Jenny Kate:** I know some of you are growing tired of the secrets, but we promise that answers are coming.

**Jiff**: Big, EmmettHead-sized thanks to Team JiffyKate: Geeky, Lynsey, Amy, and Katie! We love you ladies hard! Also, if you're not reading Geeky's fic "All Yours" yet, you should! It updated this week and completely owns my heart!

**Jenny Kate:** Also, we've been nominated for a couple of the Twific Fandom Awards, and we're so excited! We'd love your votes! But not just for us, for all of our friends and all of the amazing stories, authors, betas, fangirls, fic pimps, fandom friends, graphic artists, etc! Our fandom is full of talent and this is a time for us to all come together and celebrate it! So, be sure to vote! This is phase 1 and word on the street is that you can vote for up to 3 of your favorites in each category. (The Other One is nominated in the Drop Everything category and JiffyKate is nominated in the Scribbler Alliance category.) Thank you so much, in advance!


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

_Weightlessness. _

This time, I'm not standing on the shore or watching from an omniscient position. I'm in the water—submerged but breathing. The dark water surrounding me begins to lighten, and I see _her_ floating beside me. Her eyes open, and she looks over at me. There's no sadness nor panic, but her eyes blink several times, as if she's waking from a deep sleep. I reach an arm out to her, and she takes my hand.

Just as I'm pulling her to me, an obnoxious beeping wakes me from the semi-peaceful dream. I lie still for a moment, trying to pull every bit and piece I can from my foggy memory. It's so similar to dreams I've had lately—same elements but different scenario. Regardless, I'll take my murky black and white dreams of _Ania_ over the startling nightmares I used to have any day. Even though some mornings I wake up with a pain in my chest from not being able to reach her before my dream is over. This time I was with her . . . She took my hand.

I reach over and grab the journal from my nightstand, doing my best to scribble down a description of the dream, along with how it made me feel. At my last appointment with Dr. Gerandy, she had suggested I keep a journal of my dreams, as a way to clear my mind.

As I go through my morning routine, my mind is focused on _Ania_—wondering what we'll talk about tonight. Will she be back to her shy, withdrawn self, or will she be the semi-outgoing and quick-witted girl I saw at the diner Friday night? The contrast between the _Ania_ from the café and the _Ania_ from the diner don't escape me. It's not like she was a different person or anything, just better, happier—the color-version of herself. I'm not sure if that had to do with me or the location, but whatever it was, I'd love to see her again.

The afternoon is filled with homework, some Ben and Maggie playtime, and running a couple errands for my mom. Before I know it, it's time to head to the café. Jasper put me on the schedule for a full eight hours today, with talk of adding a weekend shift on to my schedule in another week or two, depending on how I do this week. The accomplishment I feel from working at The Crescent is huge. I know it's just waiting tables, but I've had to overcome a lot of obstacles to get where I am.

"Hey, Edward," Eric calls from the prep station in the middle of the large kitchen.

"Hey," I reply, giving him a nod.

"Edward, you're just in time. Would you mind helping me move a few tables together to get ready for a large group that's coming in for a late lunch meeting?" Angela asks, smiling her thanks over her shoulder as she loads down a tray with drinks and heads out into the café.

Tying on my apron, I look around and realize that I fit in here. For the first time in a long time, I belong somewhere. These people depend on me and trust me to show up and do my job, and that feels good.

With an added boost of confidence, I head out to help Angela—pushing tables together, rearranging chairs, putting down place settings. One task flows into the next, and I tackle them all with very few mistakes. The mistakes I do make are probably only noticeable to me. I _almost_ served the lady at table three a side of shrimp and grits instead of crawfish étouffée, but I caught it just before I loaded up my tray. There was also a near hit with a water glass and an elderly man at table five, but I avoided it. Jessica and I collided with stacks of dirty dishes, but somehow we both kept all of our plates in one piece.

I don't think this is the first day that I've been competent at my job, but it's the first day where I've had a clear enough mind to notice—to take inventory—which is surprising, because along with my job requirements, I've been thinking of . . . Bella. _There. I said it. Bella._

_Bella. Bella. Bella. _

Someone once said that you have to do something seventeen times before it becomes a habit. So mentally, I've been saying _Ania's _real name over and over, hoping that I don't mess up and call her the wrong name.

_Bella. Bella. Bella . . . _Speaking of, I feel her the moment she walks through the door.

Looking up from the table I've been wiping down, I see her long hair hanging halfway down across her face. She meets my gaze, and a smile breaks. It's not forced. There's no sadness behind it. She holds eye contact with me for longer than necessary, and I know . . . that smile is for me. Just for me. And I smile back. My throat tightens, and I laugh, because that's what you do when you're happy.

I don't know what to do next, but I know when I get a chance, I'm going to go over to table six, and I'm talking to the beautiful girl who's sitting there.

I watch her as she takes out her journal and opens it up. She doesn't begin writing right away. For a few minutes, she stares out the window, but when our eyes meet again, there's still mostly happiness where the sadness used to be.

An hour or so later, the dinner crowd has died down, and my last table is having after-dinner coffee. There are a few people in Angela's section, and Jessica's taking care of the front two tables, but other than that, the café is quiet.

Walking back into the kitchen, I notice Eric is in the process of putting away the leftover bread pudding. It was the dessert special today.

"Could I have a slice of that on a plate with the rum sauce?" I ask, nervously wiping my hands down the front of my apron.

"Sure. Did table five change their mind on dessert?"

"Uh, no. It's for . . . uh. Well, I thought I'd . . . "

"Hey, man. No more explanation." He smiles to himself as he puts a piece of it on a plate and pours the warm sauce over the top. After he garnishes the plate and wipes the edges clean to perfection, he hands it over to me.

"Thanks."

"Good luck."

When I walk back out, I almost lose my nerve and turn right back around, but seeing her sitting there and knowing how good it felt to talk to her last week, I know I can't. I have to do this. I _want_ to do this. I _need_ to do this.

As I slide the piece of delectable dessert in front of her, she pauses, eyes cast down at the plate in front of her. Slowly, she looks up, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I, uh, thought you might . . . Well, last Friday, you ordered all sweet stuff. So I thought you'd like this."

"It's my favorite."

"It's on the house."

"Thank you."

I don't want to hover while she eats, so I make myself useful and help Angela clear off a table. Every once in a while, I look up and see _Ania_ taking a bite of the bread pudding. I wasn't sure if she'd actually eat it, seeing as though she never orders anything while she's here, but I hoped she would. She looks over at me about the same time her tongue darts out to lick the rum sauce off the fork, and a tightening in my stomach catches me off guard. I'm not stupid. I know what it is, and I know why it is . . . I just haven't felt it in so long that I almost forgot what it's like—to be attracted to someone, to _feel_ something.

"You just gonna stand there?" Angela asks, nearly making me drop the bucket of dirty dishes I'm holding.

I clear my throat and drop the bucket lower to cover what I'm sure is an embarrassing outward display of my inward feelings.

"Sorry," I mutter, dropping my gaze from _Ania_ and heading for the kitchen.

After I deposit the dirty dishes and preoccupy myself with the mundane task of spraying them off, I step back out into the café. My two coffee drinkers have left, and there's hardly a soul in the place, except for the couple at the front and the beauty at table six.

Tentatively, I begin walking toward her, but before I can get to her, she turns around and smiles at me.

"Hey," she says, her eyes inviting me in.

"Hey," I reply and slide into the booth across from her, like I've wanted to do so many times before.

My eyes go down to the book in front of her, but I don't get a chance to see what's written on the pages because she quickly closes it, holding it to her chest. I wasn't trying to pry. My curiosity just got the best of me.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't . . . I mean, I didn't see . . . " I stumble over my apology, hoping she's not mad at me.

"S'okay. I just . . . well, I just . . ." she begins, trying to explain.

"Don't worry. I understand." I do. I get it. I know that we both have secrets we're not ready to tell, and it's okay with me. The last thing I want to do is push her away, so I'll take whatever she wants to give me. It's already been more than I ever could've dreamed of getting.

"Uh, there's this thing . . . on campus at the Rat on Thursday nights. I was, uh . . . well, do you like jazz music?" Her cheeks blush, and she stutters, showing she's nervous about whatever it is she's trying to spit out. I know that feeling. Instinctively, my hand inches across the table and gently grabs hers.

The entire interaction was completely unplanned, making my eyes grow in surprise. I only wanted to make her forget whatever it is she's worried or nervous about, relax her.

As I glance across the table at her, she giggles, and it's magic.

"I love jazz." I also want to tell her that I love the way her hand feels in mine, but I don't think it would come out right, and I don't want to ruin this moment.

"Well, I was just thinking that if you, uh, don't have anything to do after work, maybe you'd like to go to Jazz at the Rat with me?"

"I'd love to."

"Really?"

"Of course."

I only have about ten minutes left on my shift, so I begrudgingly remove myself from the booth and help Angela tidy up the kitchen before I leave. When I walk around the side of the building, Bella is waiting patiently on the bench at the corner.

"Did you drive here?" I ask, hoping she didn't. I scan the parking lot across the street but don't see the little red Volkswagen anywhere.

"No," she replies as she turns her head toward where she had been parked the week before. "I was kinda hoping you'd say yes, and I thought we'd walk there together." Her statement comes out more like a question, and I realize that she was unsure of what my response was going to be. It seems so strange that she could think for one minute that I might turn her down.

She has no idea.

Once again, the happiness I'm feeling erupts from deep inside, and I let out what sounds like a nervous laugh, but it's just her . . . It's how she makes me feel, and it's unexplainable.

"Yes." It's all I can manage, but it's enough. I unlock my bike from the rack and release the kickstand, so I can walk beside _Ania_. For a few minutes, the only sound filling the air between us is the click of the gears on my bike.

"Soooo . . . have you always lived in New Orleans or did you move here for school?" she asks, fidgeting with the straps on her backpack.

"Born and raised here. How 'bout you?"

"I moved here for school. I'm originally from a small town outside of Houston."

"Not too far away from home, then."

"No, but far enough."

The way the words come out makes me want to ask more questions, but the shift in her demeanor tells me that maybe I shouldn't.

"Did you always want to come to Tulane?" I ask, changing the subject a bit.

"Uh, well, it wasn't technically my dream . . . but, I guess . . . " Her voice trails off. When I look over at her, she's worrying her bottom lip, and her eyebrows are pinched together.

"Hey," I say, getting her attention. "Let's talk about something else. Anything. You choose."

She relaxes a little, allowing the smile back on her lips, and asks, "Favorite song on the radio?"

"I don't actually listen to the radio much, but I think my favorite song right now is 'Demons', which sounds creepy, but . . . it's, uh, a great song. The lyrics, I mean. They're great." I feel so lame. Why can't I just be cool and confident? Why can't I listen to more music on the radio?

"Imagine Dragons? Yeah, I like them. It's a great song." The way she smiles up at me sets my mind at ease. The oranges and pinks hanging on in the western sky are casting a warmth over her, making her skin glow. Her hair is shiny and looks so soft. I wish I wasn't pushing this damn bike. I'd try to hold her hand, which seems crazy, but the way she looks at me gives me confidence I didn't even know I possessed anymore. I thought it was long gone with so many other things.

Instead, I ask her the same question, wanting to know everything about the girl walking beside me—the good, the sad, the bad . . . her deepest, darkest secrets . . . and even her favorite song.

"'Shake It Off'," she says matter-of-factly. I glance to my other shoulder, trying to figure out what she's talking about and then back at her just in time to see a smile cross her face. "It's a song. By Taylor Swift." She tosses her head back and laughs, and I join her, for no other reason than not wanting her to stop. I have no idea what she's talking about. I mean, of course I know who Taylor Swift is, but that's about as far as it goes. "There's not any deep, philosophical meaning behind it," she says. "I just like it. On days I'm feeling really, really sad, I can play it, and I don't feel so sad anymore. It's just mindless words and they help me forget whatever the hell I'm dwelling on at the time."

I hate that she's sad, but this "Shake It Off" might be my new favorite song.

Her eyes stay on the concrete beneath our feet until we reach the grass in front of the Student Union. There are quite a few people milling around, and we look to each other, both silently asking where or what we should do next.

"I could walk over to my dorm and grab a blanket so we can sit over here on the grass away from the crowd."

"Whatever you'd like to do." I'd sit on the moon if that's where she wanted to be.

I lock my bike to a rack and escort her over to her dorm.

"I'll be right back," she says, looking back over her shoulder.

"I'll be waiting."

She smiles again and shakes her head as she walks through the glass doors.

Minutes later, we've secured a spot on the lawn, close enough to hear the jazz that's coming from the Rat, but far enough away that we can still have a quiet conversation of our own. We discuss school, and she tells me she's just recently declared her major—sociology. I can tell from the way she talks about it that she wants to help people. That makes me like her even more than I already did, if that's possible.

We're both leaning back on our arms, legs kicked out in front of us, shoulders almost touching but not quite, and something in my mind starts to stir . . . like a fuzzy television station coming into focus . . .

* * *

><p><em>Valentine's Day.<em>

_The official day of love._

_The day men are pressured into doing something romantic for the women in their lives._

_Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against romance. What I don't like is being pressured to show my feelings for someone, especially when I don't know how I truly feel about them._

_Lauren and I have been seeing each other yet again, ever since we hooked up at a New Year's Eve party. It's been less than two months, and she's already starting to put the pressure on me to get serious. Monogamy has never been an issue with me. I'm totally committed when I'm in a relationship, but I'm simply not ready to make any major plans for my future right now._

_Regardless, here I am, laying out a picnic for me and my girlfriend to enjoy on this breezy February fourteenth at Audubon Park, while she watches me with lovesick eyes. I like Lauren. I really do. I have for years. I just wish she'd stop demanding so much from me. I put enough pressure on myself as it is._

"_Edward, this is so sweet of you. I love it," Lauren gushes. She gracefully sits down and accepts the plate of fruit, cheese, and crackers I hand her._

"_I'm glad you like it. I thought we could visit that new jazz club in the Quarter later too, if you'd like."_

"_Dancing the night away sounds perfect!" She takes my hand and laces our fingers together before leaning toward me, speaking quietly. "Then we can really celebrate our news in private." I stare as her tongue sweeps across her full bottom lip for a moment before her words catch my attention._

"_What news are we celebrating?"_

"_Our engagement, of course, silly!"_

"_Lauren, we're not engaged." I extract my hand from hers and run my fingers through my hair, willing myself not to flip the fuck out._

"_Well, we will be as soon as you ask me, so go ahead!"_

"_What the hell are you talking about?"_

"_Edward, stop playing around. You said you had a surprise for me here at the park…It's Valentine's Day…What else could it be?" Her voice starts to squeak, causing the ducks in a nearby pond to fly off._

"_The picnic was the surprise, Lauren! We've only been back together a few weeks. What the hell? You really thought I was going to propose tonight?"_

"_You make it sound like we've only known each other a short time. We've been together since high school! Why are you so afraid of commitment?" Her eyes fill with tears, but I immediately recognize them for the ploy they are._

"_Why are you so ready to get married? Why can't we just enjoy our time together without putting any pressure on us? We have plenty of time to settle down after we graduate, if that's what we decide to do."_

"_I don't know, Edward. I don't think I can wait that long. I was there for you when your dad died, I didn't complain when you gave up football, and I've forgiven you for being with other girls when we were broken up. I think I've earned a damn ring by now!"_

* * *

><p>A cold sweat covers my body, and I quickly stand up, not stopping until I'm across the lawn. When the panic rises that fast, I always feel like running, like I'm trying to escape whatever is chasing me down. Bella is close behind. I feel her, and when I finally turn to look at her, there is nothing but worry and concern etched on her beautiful face.<p>

"Edward, are you okay?"

I honestly don't know how to answer her. Technically I'm fine, but to have that particular memory hit me out of the blue like that has shaken me to my core.

"D-do you mind if we sit on that bench over there," I ask, pointing a few feet away.

"Of course not." For a second, it looks like Bella might grab my hand, but she quickly changes her mind—not that I blame her.

Once we're seated, I close my eyes and breathe deeply. The faint sound of jazz still fills the night air, and it helps me to refocus and calm myself until I feel comfortable enough to speak. Turning to face Bella, I see she's watching me intently. I self-consciously tug on my hair, which causes her gaze to sharpen.

Her fingertips ghost over my scar, making my skin hum.

Softly, she asks, "What happened?"

I know if I'm to have any type of relationship with Bella, I need to be honest and tell her everything about myself. Even though we've only been talking for a few days, they've been the best times I've had in a long time. I'll be absolutely crushed if she wants to stop seeing me, although I'll understand why.

"I'm not normal, Bella," I begin, struggling to find the right words to say. "I'm sure that's obvious, but I feel like I should give you fair warning. That way, you'll be able to make an educated decision on whether or not you still want to talk to me." I breathe out deeply, eyes trained toward the ground, willing myself to continue even though the fear and anxiety are almost crippling. "I'm not ready to tell you everything, but I can at least explain what happened just now."

"I'll listen to whatever you want to say, Edward, but I wish you weren't so hard on yourself."

This time, she's the one to grab my hand, and I'm empowered by her touch.

"I had a girlfriend. Her name is Lauren, and we were together for a long time—since high school. She started pressuring me to propose, and I just wasn't ready, you know?" Bella nods her head, encouraging me to continue. "Anyway, for the last year or so, we kept breaking up and getting back together and…and then…well, something bad happened. I actually don't remember a lot of what happened…before or during _because_ of what happened…and just now, when we were sitting on the blanket, I was hit with a memory. It was something I'd never remembered until tonight."

Feeling her thumb rub circles over my knuckles causes me to look into her eyes. I'm expecting any number of things: pity, disgust, alarm, but there's no sign of discomfort on Bella's face. I can't find a hint of judgment within her features, only acceptance. Maybe even understanding. I've experienced this with my family, of course, but to receive this from her, my _Ania_, warms me from head to toe.

She makes me feel like I can do anything.

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jenny Kate**: So, there was touching...of the hands...I mean, that's progress, right?!

**Jiff:** I think so! Hand touching leads to other body parts touching…eventually, so I definitely approve!

**Jenny Kate: **I approve of all the touching. What did y'all think about the new memories that seem to be coming back to Edward?

**Jiff:** Ugh, Lauren. She's a piece of work, isn't she?

**Jenny Kate:** Yes, she is! I'd like to reach through the computer and bitch slap her. Just keep in mind that she's part of Edward's past...and his past has molded him into what he is today, which makes it/her vital to the story.

**Jiff:** Very true. Feel free to include Lauren-hate in your reviews but, more than that, we love how much you guys love this Edward. It makes us so happy to see that y'all don't pity him; you feel for him and are rooting for him just like we are!

**Jenny Kate:** Your support for this Edward and our story make us so happy! Your reviews have been putting big cheesy grins on our faces and we love y'all for them!

**Jiff**: Speaking of love, we have mad love for our Team Jiffy Kate girls Geeky, Lynsey, Katie, and Amy. Thank you, ladies, for being awesome!

**Jenny Kate:** We'll see y'all next Friday! Also, we want to remind you that we have a JiffyKate Fanfic group on Facebook. We post pic teases during the week for the upcoming chapter, and there's always plenty of Rob pics to go around! ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

"_Well, I was drunk…the day my mom…got outta prison_

_And I went…to pick'er up…in the rain!_

_But, before I could get to the station in my pickuuuup truck_

_She got runned over by a damned ol' train!"_

"_Fucking hell, Ed. I thought you were going out with Lauren tonight. Why on Earth are you here at the frat house hammered out of your mind? Oh, wait. Let me take a wild guess. Y'all broke up again, huh?"_

"_Shut up, Ethan. You're messin' with my favorite drinkin' song." Damn, I really am messed up. Even I can tell my slur is strong._

_Ethan turns down the old-school country music that's a staple here at the Kappa Sig house before tossing me a bottle of water. I take a swig to appease him, then promptly pop open a can of beer._

_My best friend just rolls his eyes at me. "Come on, man. Tell me what happened."_

"_Fuckin' Lauren, man. I set up a really nice picnic…you know, tryin' to be all romantic and shit…and she tells me she was expectin' me to propose! I mean, what the fuck, man!"_

"_Damn, that girl will never give up trying to get a ring from you. What did you say?"_

"_I told her I wasn't proposin', that we'd only been back together for a few weeks!"_

"_Well, my friend, looks like we need to hit Bourbon, STAT."_

_I guzzle the rest of my beer and let out a roaring belch before agreeing._

"_Let's do this."_

* * *

><p>I sit on my bed and breathe deeply, trying to focus on the here and now. It's what Dr. Gerandy would tell me to do. These recent flashes of memories have been shaking me up. First, the flashback of me and Lauren on Valentine's Day. And now, this.<p>

It feels almost like an out-of-body experience—like the memories are mine but not. It's like putting a jigsaw puzzle together, taking what my mom and Rose and Emmett have told me and piecing it together with what's coming back to me. More than anything, it scares me. Part of me wishes I could keep all of that locked away. It feels easier to deal with if I have no first-hand accounts.

Regardless, I'm not going to let this deter me from what I'm planning on doing today. First, I have class, and then I'm planning on waiting for Bella outside her dorm so I can ask her on a date.

.

.

.

As I pace in front of her dorm, I feel like a creeper, but it's the only way I know to contact her. We still haven't exchanged phone numbers, and I don't want to wait until tomorrow. I need to see her. At our coffee date earlier this week, she had mentioned having class until three o'clock on Wednesdays, so I'm hoping I've timed it right. I rode my bike as fast as I could to make it from Loyola to here before three so I wouldn't miss her. Looking at my phone, I see it's now a quarter after three. For all I know, she could have other plans, but it's worth a shot. She's worth it. The more I know about her, the more I want to know about her. I'm hoping that with time, she'll feel comfortable enough to tell me about her past as well.

After another ten minutes of walking up and down the sidewalk outside her dorm, I decide to have a seat on the bench. I'm tired after being in class all day. Normally, on days I have classes, I go home afterward and take a nap. I probably need to text Rose and tell her I won't be home. She'll be worried if I don't show up to help with dinner.

I quickly shoot a text off to Rose and get a fast response telling me to "be careful and have fun", with a wink added to the end. I roll my eyes at my sister's assumptions but smile to myself, because I always have fun when I'm with _Ania_. Whether we're at the café or studying at the diner or drinking coffee at the espresso bar down the street, I can't get enough of her presence.

With every passing day and every encounter, I find myself wanting more . . . more than I feel I deserve . . . more than I feel I'm worthy of . . . and it scares me. For the last few months, all I've thought about is talking to _Ania_, but I never really thought about what would happen once I did. I guess all along I thought she would reject me, and I wouldn't have to even cross the proverbial bridge. I feel like I've given her a fair warning. She's seen me during an almost panic attack, and she didn't run. I told her I'm not normal, and she still didn't run. But I can tell she's had a lot of sadness in her life, and what if I just bring her more sadness? What if there's too much sadness between the two of us? She deserves someone who will make her happy, and I'm worried that's not me . . . And I'm worried that it's too late to turn back now. She'll have to be the one to walk away, because I can't . . . won't.

So, my new fear is _Ania_ realizing all of this and wanting nothing more to do with me.

I have to believe it's all worth it and that I'd survive. Nevertheless, it's a risk I'm willing to take.

"Edward?"

I'm a little bit startled by her close proximity. Normally, I know when she's near, but I must have been too deep in thought.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," she says, her voice light with a hint of laughter. "I thought you might be sleeping. What are you doing here?"

I can tell she's just curious and wasn't expecting me. The smile is still on her face. I glance over to see a girl with curly blonde hair standing next to her, and I feel myself shutting down and closing in. I wasn't expecting her to have company.

"I, uh. Well, I was just . . . stopping by. This is a bad time. I'll just wait and see you tomorrow at the café." I keep my eyes focused on the ground beneath me and walk swiftly past the two of them. I don't know why I can't just be normal . . . Why can't I just say what I'm here for? Why does it matter that someone is with her?

"Edward?" Bella's concerned voice makes me stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "Katie, I'll see you in the room," she says, dismissing the girl. I turn back around just in time to see her walk through the glass doors, giving me a weird look as she goes.

I don't know if it's being caught off guard or the path my thoughts were taking before she walked up, but I've lost all the confidence I had when I got here. I suddenly can't remember what I had worked out in my head—the words are lost on my tongue.

"Did you need something? Did you want to talk?" she asks, slowly walking toward me as if I'm a caged animal. The analogy isn't far off. My insides feel twisted and unsettled.

"I'm sure you think I'm weird for camping outside your dorm, waiting for you." I think I'm weird, so why shouldn't she? In my defense, I wouldn't have had to do this if I had her number. "I don't have your phone number," I blurt out, immediately wishing I hadn't.

She purses her lips and walks closer to me, grabbing my hand and taking a pen out of her pocket. The ink feels weird on my palm, but the warmth from her touch is something I would pay good money for. "There. Now you have my number."

She puts the pen back in her pocket and shields her eyes from the sun as she looks up at me. "So, what were you wanting to talk about?"

_What was I wanting to talk to her about?_ Sometimes the way she looks at me makes me feel more stupid than usual. _A date._ That's right. A date. A _real_ date.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go on a, uh, date . . . on Saturday?" I ask, questioning her, myself . . . the whole fucking universe.

She looks out across the lawn at nothing in particular, but I can see the side of her mouth turned up in a smile, so I take that as a good sign and continue.

"I thought we could go down to The Quarter, maybe get a bite to eat, listen to some music." I push my hands deep down into my front pockets to keep from fidgeting.

"That sounds like fun." She squints an eye when she looks back up at me, and she's so cute. Her nose is scrunched and the few freckles across her cheekbones are on display. Her hair wisps around her face as the breeze blows. She's everything good in life.

And I'd love to kiss her.

I can't help but stare at her lips. The tension between us is suddenly thick, and we both clear our throats at the same time, simultaneously trying to clear the air.

"So, Saturday night?" I ask, making sure she's still on board.

"Sounds good. We can talk about the details tomorrow night."

"I guess I could've waited until then to ask you."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"See you tomorrow."

.

.

.

When I walk back into the house, Rose is cooking away in the kitchen, and my mom has the two rugrats practically tied down at the kitchen table. She has a measuring tape draped around her neck and a few straight pins pinched between her lips. That looks dangerous.

"Uncle Edward!" Both kids start whooping and hollering and trying to get away from my mom, but she has a pretty tight hold on them. She's no stranger to wrangling kids. I can only imagine what Rose and I were like when we were that little, but at least there's a nearly five-year age difference between us. These two are hell on wheels. What one doesn't think of, the other does.

"Oh, look. It's Chicken Nugget and Big Mac." Maggie giggles and Ben gives me his signature glare.

"I'm not a hamboorger," he says with a humph.

"Well, you look good enough to eat," I tell him as I get closer, leaning down and pretending to munch on his neck.

"Edward, you're not helping," my mom admonishes. "Why don't you make yourself useful and hold one of these?" she says, thrusting Maggie my way. Her lime green fairy wings slap me in the face as she climbs on my lap.

"So, who's ready for Halloween?"

"Me! Me!" They both scream.

Another look from my mom tells me that I'm _still_ not helping. I think they're already jacked up on sugar.

"So, Ben. Are you ready to scare people with your mummy costume?"

"Yes! Rawwwwwwr!" he says loudly, both hands out in front of him. My mom does her best to continue tacking pieces of material on to his costume without sticking the little dude.

"I don't think mummies roar," Maggie says from her perch on my lap. Her legs are crossed, and her hands are daintily placed on her knees. "They're dead."

"No, they're not!" Ben yells.

"Yes, they are!" Maggies fires back.

And the fight is on.

.

.

.

"Ben and Maggie, front and center." Emmett barks the orders like a drill sergeant, and both kids play the part of the dutiful soldiers, standing at attention in front of him. "There will be no running. No crossing streets. You must be holding a grown-up's hand at all times."

"Is Uncle Edward a grown-up?" Maggies asks, interrupting his tirade.

I can't help but laugh. They say the darndest things.

"Well, that depends on who you ask," Emmett answers. I punch him on his beefy arm, and then we're both laughing.

"Did you guys see that mosquito that just bit me?" Emmett asks, teasing me as he brushes off his arm, but it flies right over the kids' heads. No pun intended.

"I didn't see no mosquito," Ben says, swatting the air.

"OK, so who's ready for trunk-or-treat?"

Everyone cheers as we step out onto the sidewalk and make our way toward Audubon Park. Some of the fraternities, sororities, and other social organizations from Tulane and Loyola join forces and put on a trunk-or-treat for the kids, large and small.

I really would rather be sitting at home, catching up on my school work for the week so that I'll be free to take Bella out on our date on Saturday, but my mom and Rose insisted that I come and participate in the festivities.

One thing we know how to do well in New Orleans is be festive.

Let the good times roll.

While we're walking down the sidewalk, Maggie sidles up beside me and takes my hand. "Uncle Edward, why didn't you dress up?"

"I did." I glance down to see her looking me up and down. Her little nose scrunches up, and her eyebrows pinch together, just like my mom and sister. "I don't fink so, Uncle Edward. Dis looks like your regular clothes." She drops my hand and pulls at my flannel shirt. I quickly grab her hand back up before I pull a Saints ball cap out of my back pocket and place it on my head.

"There."

The frown is still on her face, so I unbutton my shirt and show her the Saints t-shirt underneath.

"See? I'm a Saints fan."

Her giggles erupt, and the frown leaves her adorable face. "But you're always a Saints fan! You supposed to be somefin' different!"

I tickle her as I pick her up and carefully place her on my hip, avoiding the green fairy wings. "Well, you're always a princess, but look at you," I say, gesturing to her tiara.

"Yeah, but tonight, I'm a fairy!" She reaches inside her little purse and throws glitter into the air.

"Sparingly!" my sister yells from behind us.

"I told you that was a bad idea," Emmett whines, licking the sleeve of his shirt to get the glitter off his tongue.

We're all laughing as we approach the mass of people who have gathered at Audubon Park. I hold Maggie a little tighter. She helps me feel grounded and to focus on something besides the crowd of people and the loud noises.

As we make our way up and down the rows of cars, Maggie and Ben flutter between the three of us adults. Sometimes, they're brave enough to let go of our hands and walk up and get candy on their own, but other times, they're too shy or scared and need someone to go with them. When we come upon a large tent, with black lights flashing, Ben leaps back and grabs my hand. Maggie holds the other. They're both mesmerized by the college-aged girls hovering around in neon garb with their faces made up like skeletons, but neither of them budges. I bend down. "You know those are just people with painted up faces, right?" I ask. They both nod their heads but don't take their eyes off of the skeletons. A few other kids come up. Some run right up and enter the tent and come out with candy, but some are hovering around the entrance like Ben and Maggie. "Want to skip this one?" They both shake their heads but still make no effort to enter the tent. "Want me to go with you?" Nods, again, are all I get.

I stand up and walk toward the opening. The spooky music gets louder, and the flashes of light get brighter. And I get pissed off at myself, because with each step, I feel my palms sweat and my head throb. I will away the migraine I feel creeping up. _Not now. Not here. _

"Emmett," I call over my shoulder.

"Edward?" a familiar voice asks from deep within the tent. Even with the makeup and odd-looking clothes, I'd know that beautiful dark hair anywhere.

"Bella?" Somehow I manage to keep myself together, holding tightly to Ben and Maggie's hands.

"Edward?" Emmett asks as he steps inside the tent. "Everything OK?"

"I, uh . . ." Truthfully no, but I don't want Bella to know that, and I don't want to embarrass myself like this out in public.

"You need to go back outside?" he asks quietly, taking Ben and Maggie's hands from me.

I look between Emmett and Bella a few times, warring with what's going on inside my head and what I want in my heart. That's when the knowing look falls across Emmett's face. "Bella?" he asks. We both nod. "I'm Emmett," he says, helping the kids get some candy and freeing up a hand to reach out to her. "Edward's brother-in-law."

"It's nice to meet you," she says, shaking his hand.

"It's really nice to meet you, too," he tells her. "Edward, I'm going to give you a few minutes, yeah?" he looks back at me with a worried expression but like it's a risk he's willing to take.

"Yeah."

"Uncle Edward!" Maggie yells as they're walking back out of the tent. "We can't just leave him!"

Emmett assures her that I'm fine, but I don't feel fine. I reach up to rub my temples and take some deep breaths, trying to regain some balance and keep the migraine from hitting me full force. I feel a hand gently touch my shoulder, and when I draw in a cleansing breath, it's her I smell—sweet, light, and comfort.

"You wanna step outside?" Bella asks, her voice like a soothing balm to an open wound.

I turn on my heels and walk outside the tent. She follows close behind until we're standing between two cars, and the noise and light fades into the background.

"Are you OK?"

I look up to see her stunning eyes shining through the paint covering her face.

"With all the strobe lights and music, I felt like I was getting a migraine, but I'm better now." Something about her proximity calms me, and I feel the throb in my head begin to subside.

"Good," she says, brushing her hand down my arm.

I allow myself to get a good look at her, and soon, the tightness is no longer in my chest but in my jeans, and I'm thankful it's dark outside. She's wearing a tight black mini-skirt with tall black boots and a cut-off black tank top. There's white strips on her that resemble the body of a skeleton, but it leaves little to the imagination. In all the times I've ever seen her, she's always been fully clothed. This is a new kind of overwhelming feeling. The throb in my head has moved further down my body, and it's taken my voice with it. I can't think of any intelligent or polite words.

_Fuck me._

"So, what are you supposed to be?" she asks, a sly smile on her face as she continues to stand incredibly close to me, her hand still resting on my arm.

I laugh, remembering the lame response I gave Maggie. "Just myself, I guess. Although, I told my niece I was a Saints fan so that she'd be happy."

"I like yourself," she says, looking down at our feet and then back up. "But the Saints fan works, too." She reaches up and grabs the bill of my baseball cap. The motion pulls her shirt up even higher, and her bare stomach is on display. There's a weird pull in the pit of my stomach. Part of me wants to see what else is under there, and part of me wants to rip my shirt off and cover her up with it.

"And you are?" I ask, knowing but wanting our conversation to continue.

"A skeleton." Her real teeth flash as she smiles. "It was required," she says, gesturing to the banner that's hanging on the side of the tent.

"So you're in a sorority?"

"Phi Mu," she says, nodding.

"How about you? Are you in a fraternity?"

"Not anymore," I answer, shaking my head.

I can tell that she wants to ask more, but just like every other time we hit one of these walls, we don't push. We just let the other have their secrets or past or whatever.

"It was really good seeing you tonight."

"You too. I should probably go . . . and, uh . . . "

"Yeah, you're family is probably wondering where you are. Was that your niece and nephew?"

"Yeah, Maggie and Ben."

"They're adorable."

"Thanks."

"So, tomorrow night?"

"Yes, I'll meet you at the trolley stop by the coffee shop, if that's still OK?" It's what we had decided last night at the café. I know it's not typical, but it'll have to do . . . for now.

"It's perfect. I'll see you then."

As I start to walk away, I'm overcome with the need and want to kiss her, but I don't. Instead, I tug on my baseball cap to hide the ridiculous smile on my face and leave to find my family. I can't help but wish tomorrow would hurry up and get here and hope beyond hope I can work up enough nerve to kiss her.

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jenny Kate: **PAH-LEEEEZE let him get enough nerve up to kiss her! Geez! We've been waiting 12 damn chapters! *looks around* Oh, hey, guise. *waves*

**Jiff**: *throws hands up* Glory! Let there be some smoochin' soon!

**Jenny Kate:** I'm sure for some of you *achem*hoors*achem* if you're still reading this, you've surpassed your "there must be some action before chapter _, or I flounce" limit. For that, we are grateful. And there is hope! He wants to kiss her!

**Jiff:** Yes, thank you…again…for trusting us and sticking with the slow burn!

**Jenny Kate:** And thank you so much for the reviews! They've seriously been making our weeks. We're going to try to catch up on our replies, but with Thanksgiving quickly approaching, they may be a little delayed. Our top priority is making sure the chapters stay on schedule…so, yes, there will be a chapter posted next Friday (or possibly on Thursday, due to Black Friday shopping and Jiff being at Disney).

**Jiff:** Woo hoo for Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and Disney! We have so much going on, maybe we should post on Wednesday instead? Just a thought.…

**Jenny Kate:** Maybe…we'll see! Regardless, you'll get a TOO chapter next week!

We'd like to thank our Team JiffyKate girls: Geeky, Lynzey, Katie, and Amy! We couldn't do this without, y'all!

If we don't "see" everyone before next Thursday (for those who celebrate), Happy Thanksgiving! We're thankful for each and every one of you!

***JiffyKate made it into the second round of voting in the Twific Fandom Awards (along with so many of our friends) for "Scribbler Alliance" (aka writing team/collaboration) and we'd love your votes! - twificfandomawards . blogspot p / vote . html (copy and paste into your browser and remove the spaces)**

**If you're reading this on November 21st, 2014 (original posting day), HAPPY 6 YEARS OF TWILIGHT! **


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

I'm nervous. I shouldn't have left the house so early. I know exactly how long it takes to walk to this trolley stop, yet I left thirty minutes early anyway, and now I have time to stand here and overthink everything.

_This is a bad idea. _

I know this isn't our first date…or maybe it is. I guess that would depend on who you ask. According to my mom and sister, this is the first _real_ date because I asked her out, and we're going somewhere we don't normally go. Emmett could tell that their fawning and flailing was making me nervous, so he pulled me aside and assured me there was nothing to be nervous about and that we've already been on dates, regardless of who asked who.

Bella and I know each other.

We've done this.

_We can do this._

There's nothing to worry about, and no matter what, Emmett assured me he'd only be a phone call away, should any emergencies arise. I've mapped out the entire evening in my mind, thinking of how we'll take the trolley down to Canal Street and then walk down Decatur to The Quarter. I'm planning on taking Bella to a small restaurant that sits adjacent to Jackson Square. It's a family favorite. We used to go there all the time when my dad was alive. We haven't been there much in the last few years, but it's somewhere I feel comfortable. Plus, it's in a great location. There's so much to do around there . . . people to watch, music on every corner.

I'm distracted by the familiar pull. When I look up, Bella is approaching with her hands pushed down into the pockets of her jacket. Her long hair is pulled loosely to the side, and her eyes are darker, lips pinker…cheeks a bit flushed. She's gorgeous.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"No," I lie, because it's my own damn fault I've been here for half an hour. She doesn't need to know that. "The next trolley should be here any minute. Are you cold?" I ask hesitantly.

"No. I'm great. I love the fall weather."

"Me too."

"It was good seeing you last night," she says, smiling up at me. The sun has already set, and the only light is coming from the street lamp on the corner.

"Yeah, it was a great surprise."

"So, where are we headed?" she asks as the trolley pulls up to the curb and we hop on. Fortunately, there aren't many people using the service this late in the evening, so it's easy to get a seat, and the windows are closed, so it's not too cold.

"Stanley. Have you been there?"

"No. I mainly just stick to campus and St. Charles."

"And Bourbon?" I ask, knowing that all college students head to Bourbon occasionally.

"Only a couple of times."

"Really?"

"Yes," she laughs. "I know it's shocking, but I'm not a lush."

"I didn't…I mean, I wasn't trying to insinuate…"

"It's OK, Edward." Her hand rests casually on my arm like last night. "I'm teasing."

She may be teasing, but her touch is searing—electrifying.

"It's not that I don't like Bourbon Street. I just haven't been much."

"Yeah, it's not really my scene either. But I've had some good times down there." I smirk, thinking back on the days before I even had a legal ID. Ethan and I definitely had some fun there. I shake my head, refusing to go down that road right now.

"So, where's Stanley?" When the question is out of her mouth, she laughs. It's that really good laugh, like the night we were walking to the Rat. "Sounds like a person…or like we're looking for Waldo." The way she tilts her head back and her eyes glisten, I feel like this is her—the real her. When she lets go of the sadness and allows herself to just _be_. I've seen it a time or two, and I'm so glad she feels comfortable enough around me to let down her guard…or wall…or whatever she's built up around her.

I'm sure I pause for too long, watching her. She stops laughing, but the soft smile stays.

"Edward? That's funny, right?"

I smile back at her, but all I can think to say is, "You're beautiful."

The blush on her cheeks is instant, and she immediately looks the other way, out the window of the trolley, and I'm worried I shouldn't have said that. The way her fingers play with the sleeve of my shirt tells me I didn't mess up too bad.

"Thank you," she finally says, and turns back to look at me. The spark in her eyes is intensified. "I'm not sure anyone has ever told me that."

My brows furrow, and I find it hard to keep a scowl off of my face, because she should've been told that…every day…at least once.

"Well, you are." I decide to play it safe and keep most of my inner dialogue to myself. "And Stanley is on Decatur. It'll be a few blocks walk after we get off the trolley. Are you OK with that?"

"Yes, it sounds great! I love walking down to The Quarter."

When we get off the trolley and begin making our way down the street, I feel Bella's hand brush mine. Somewhere deep inside, instinct takes over, and I reach down and link our fingers together. She pauses for a moment but doesn't miss a step.

"Is this OK?"

"It's perfect."

Dinner at Stanley is just as good as I remember it being. The atmosphere is casual and laid back. They used to not be open for dinner, but thankfully they expanded their hours a few months ago. For a brief moment, I allow myself to miss my dad and think about how much he would've enjoyed the oyster po-boy with cole slaw and remoulade sauce that I ordered.

"What's wrong?" Bella asks from across the table, lightly wiping her mouth with her napkin.

I'm not sure if this is the time or the place, but I feel like being open and honest with her. My mom gave me some good advice earlier about being myself. She said if I really care about Bella, I should trust her enough to tell her about my past. I definitely care about the girl sitting across from me—my _Ania_.

"I was just thinking about my dad and how much he would love this," I say, holding up the last bite of my sandwich.

"That's who you were visiting that day at the cemetery, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind me asking what happened?"

_No._ I can honestly say for the first time in a long time that I want to tell someone about my dad. I want her to know how wonderful he was.

"He died a few years ago of lung cancer."

"That sucks," she says with honesty and sincerity, and I smile across the table at her, because she's right. It sucks.

"It does, and I miss him. This was one of his favorite restaurants."

"Thank you for bringing me here."

"Thank you for coming. Do you want to get out of here, maybe walk around the square?"

She nods and reaches for the check, but I stop her. "This is my treat."

"You don't have to pay for mine."

"Yes, I do. I asked you to come here, and I wouldn't feel right not paying…and it's not because I want anything in return. It's because I enjoy being with you, and if my dad were here, he'd kick my ass if I didn't."

"Thank you." She smiles and puts her arms through the sleeves of her coat.

"So," I begin as we walk back out into the cool of the evening, "do you mind if I ask what you were doing at the cemetery that day?"

She lets out a deep breath. "No." She hugs her arms across her body, pulling her jacket closed. "I was there at the chapel. I go there sometimes when I need to collect my thoughts, pray, feel some peace…I don't know."

"You weren't visiting someone?" I ask, not wanting to dig but knowing that there's more there that she's not saying.

"That someone isn't here. He's back home."

_He's_, meaning what? A boyfriend? A friend? Right when I'm trying to think of the right way to ask the question, a man in a mime costume walks up in front of us.

He proceeds to act out a scene of a girl and a boy . . . and what appears to be a proposal. The whole situation begins to feel uncomfortable. I've always hated those stupid mimes. The way they move and never speak freaks me out. I notice Bella stiffen and move closer, so I pull her to me and walk around him. Neither of us comments; we just keep walking, both lost in our own thoughts.

"Gelato?" I ask as we pass one of my favorite dessert shops.

"I love gelato."

And just like that, the smile is back, and the awkward atmosphere around us lifts.

Bella likes strawberry everything. She orders a double scoop of strawberry gelato, and we find a small table in the corner. My two scoops of limoncello hit the spot, and we sit in comfortable silence for few minutes, watching people pass outside the window.

The interior of the shop is decorated in vintage signs, mostly related to cars and old gas station memorabilia. I see Bella looking around the shop before she spots a big "VW" sign on the opposite wall.

"Tell me about your car."

"Well, when I first bought it, it was a POS," she says, shaking her head. "I just needed some wheels, and I only had a few hundred dollars. JP…" Her voice drops, as well as her eyes. She plays with her spoon for a second, drifting off, as if she's not even here.

"Who's JP?"

"My…the uh…" She struggles with how to say whatever it is she's trying to say.

And I suddenly get it. _He_ is who she goes to the cemetery to visit, the one who's back home…whoever she's lost…JP.

I just nod my understanding, encouraging her to continue if she wants to.

"He convinced me we could make something out of nothing." She smiles sadly, looking out the window as she continues. "I didn't know anything about cars, but over the course of our senior year, we somehow managed to take the beast apart and put her back together. The summer before we came here, I saved up enough money to buy a new paint job and have a little body work done on her. She's run like a charm ever since. And that's how I learned to love the classics." She looks back at me, a proud smile across her face. I'm not sure if it's just pride in what she accomplished with the car or pride in sharing that bit of herself. Regardless, I return the smile, silently thanking her for telling me.

"What about you? Do you have a classic?"

I swallow hard, trying to think of the best way to answer that question without having a full-blown panic attack. I owe her something.

"I have a '67 Chevy Impala." I guess that's a good place to start. No need to go into too many details.

She nods, looking at me with a face full of questions, but she responds with, "Nice." Her appreciation of the car is evident in her tone. "Did you rebuild it yourself, or was it already in mint condition?"

"It wasn't as bad off as your Volkswagen, but it needed a lot of work under the hood."

"Did you do the work yourself?"

"No, no," I answer, shaking my head but smiling at all of the good memories that flood my mind of working on the car. Those were definitely good days and ones I don't mind talking about. "My dad did a lot of the initial work, but when I was about fifteen, I got really interested in cars . . . well, _that_ car, in particular. I swore I'd have it finished by the time I took my driver's test."

"And did you?" she asks, leaning over the table.

"No." I laugh at the disappointment I felt. "My sister, Rose, had to work that day, so I couldn't use her car, and my dad was in court. It left my mom to take me, and the only available vehicle was her Subaru." I shake my head, remembering her telling me that it wouldn't be the end of the world. "I could've waited, but I _had_ to get my license the day I turned sixteen. There just wasn't another option."

She looks down at the table, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulder. "I didn't get mine until I was seventeen. Didn't really have a use for it until then," she says, shrugging her shoulders and smiling back up at me. "So, when did you finish the Impala?"

"Just before my seventeenth birthday. Thankfully, Emmett came along and married my sister. He and I would work on the car every day after school when he didn't have to work; sometimes even when he did, he'd come over in the evenings."

"He seems like a really cool guy."

"The coolest."

"Why don't you drive the Impala anymore?" she asks. Hesitation is thick in her tone, and she fidgets with the wadded up napkin.

"It needs some work." I feel the familiar rise of panic deep down in my gut, but it doesn't grow like normal. It stays down, allowing me to think through my answer, to give her something without freaking the hell out.

"Did something happen to it?"

"Could we go?" I ask abruptly. "I really need some fresh air."

She quickly gets up and throws our trash away, offering her hand to me as we walk out the door. No words. Just her hand in mine as we walk down Decatur, passing by Jackson Square. Soon, it's only our footsteps on the concrete blended with the faint sounds of jazz coming from the House of Blues as we approach the corner at Canal Street.

"I didn't mean to push," she says softly, squeezing my hand.

"It's fine." And it really is. Even though I wasn't able to tell her everything, I did tell her some of it, and the most important part is that I got through it without having a Defcon 5 meltdown.

"I had a great time tonight." Her body leans into mine, and it feels so good.

"I did too."

The trolley pulls up, and I put my hand on the small of her back as she climbs aboard. She turns around and looks back at me, her eyes holding an intensity I haven't seen yet. When we slide into the bench, she remains close, her hand in mine and her head on my shoulder.

The ride back to St. Charles passes too quickly. Before I know it, we're stepping off and standing awkwardly at the corner where we met just a few short hours ago.

"Can I walk you back to your dorm?"

"Please."

We make small talk on the way to her dorm. She tells me about a report she has to work on tomorrow at the library, and I tell her about the test I have to study for. When we're standing in front of the dorms, she stops and turns toward me.

"Who's going to walk you home?"

"I'll be fine." I laugh at her mock concern.

"Would you text me so I know you made it safely?"

"Yes." My throat tightens, and the feeling in my stomach is back…a marching band in my chest as I realize she really is concerned about me…and she wants me to text her.

I'd like to do more than text her.

I want to kiss her.

She starts to pull away, but I have a surge of confidence flood my body, and I pull her to me. Our bodies flush, I reach up to brush a loose strand of hair off her face, cupping her jaw. Before I know it, my lips are on hers, and the coiling in my stomach is now a blazing fire. I feel hot from my head to my toes. Her lips remain closed, but she doesn't pull away. I feel her grip the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, but then it's like someone flipped a switch—her arms stiffen, her lips pull back, and she averts her gaze.

"I should go. Thank you so much for tonight." She stands on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around my neck. It takes a second for my brain to catch up, but when it does, I fold in around her. We stay in the warm embrace until she ends it, taking a couple steps back. I watch her as she goes into the building, even walking closer so I can see her enter the elevator at the end of the hall. When she's long gone, I finally turn around and head home.

My heart and my head are battling as I walk. One is elated that I kissed her, but the other is worried I shouldn't have. She seemed to want it at first, but then it was like she regretted it…and then she hugged me. I'm so confused…but happy.

A few guys walk past me, reeking of alcohol. All of them wearing Kappa Sig shirts…

* * *

><p>"<em>Come on, bro. Just make your shot, and put me out of my misery," Ethan begs.<em>

_Leaning over the table, poised to strike, I wait a few more seconds before sinking the eight ball in the corner pocket right where Ethan is standing._

"_Next round's on you, asshole!"_

_I laugh as he tosses his pool stick down on the table and heads toward the bar, grumbling the entire time._

_Ethan is nearly as drunk as I am, which makes him a real shitty pool player. I, on the other hand, get better as I drink, which only adds to his humiliation. Maybe his crappy playing is what makes me look good, but I don't care. I'm winning and he's buying, so it's all good._

_After leaving the frat house, we found a parking spot on a side street in The Quarter before making our way to Bourbon Street. Seeing that I was too drunk to drive, Ethan was more than happy to take the keys to my Impala and drive for us. Bourbon is party central any time of day, but after walking the strip a couple of times, we were bored and decided playing pool was the way we should spend our evening. After turning a few corners, we found ourselves at Mollie's Pool Hall._

_Even at five o'clock on Valentine's Day, Mollie's has a nice crowd, but it's not crazy-packed, so we can enjoy our game in peace._

_As I rack the balls for another game, I feel a small hand glide up my arm and grip my bicep._

"_What's a guy like you doing all alone on Valentine's Day?"_

_I turn my head and see an attractive girl with very glassy eyes looking up at me. As politely as I can, I remove her hand from my arm and grab the blue chalk, applying it to my pool stick._

"_I'm not alone. I'm hanging with my buddy tonight."_

"_I should've figured a pretty boy like you isn't into girls. My mistake."_

"_Oh, I'm not gay. My girlfriend and I had a fight, so now I'm having a guy's night instead of a romantic one," I explain. I mean, I guess Lauren's still my girlfriend. We didn't officially break up. We just had a huge fight, resulting in me leaving her ass at the park to clean up the picnic I'd made for us, while I drowned my frustrations at the Kappa Sig house._

_Fucking Lauren. _

_Fucking Valentine's Day._

_The girl's eyes light up, and she licks her lips before telling me to find her by the jukebox if I decide I want some female company before walking off. _

_Yeah, no thanks._

_Ethan finally shows up with our pitcher of beer and pours us both a glass._

"_What took you so long?"_

"_I was just seeing if you were going to hook up with that chick that was after you," he laughs._

"_Fuck you," I tell him before breaking the balls and sending two stripes and one solid into their respective pockets._

_Ethan groans before saying, "This is the last game, fucker. I can't take this anymore."_

"_Fine, pussy, but you're still driving, so lay off the beer."_

* * *

><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jenny Kate:** Hopefully, everyone is still with us. It seems like we've been promising this for a while, but we can honestly say that answers are coming soon. We're so close now, we can smell it…and by smell _it_, I mean our nerves. Because we're sweating bullets over here, y'all.

**Jiff:** For real, though. The nerves are LEGIT.

***passes the bottle of tequila***

**Jenny Kate:** Positives from this chapter: They had another date, divulged some information, held hands a lot, and kissed...might not have been perfect, but I'm pretty proud of Edward for making a move.

***These A/Ns got cut short due to Jiff jetting off to Florida. We're sitting on pins and needles over here and so ready for y'all to read the next few chapters! We won't keep you waiting long. We know this one is posting early, so we'll probably go ahead and post Chapter 14 next Wednesday and then get back to our Friday posting schedule...possibly giving y'all two chapters in one week. We'll just have to wait and see. As always, THANK YOU SO MUCH for your support of Edward and Bella and this story. We are loving your reviews. They mean the world to us! A huge THANK YOU to our Team JiffyKate girls: Geeky, Lynzey, Katie, and Amy! We couldn't this without y'all! **

**If you celebrate Thanksgiving, HAPPY (early) THANKSGIVING! We're so thankful for each and every one of you and for this crazy fandom we all belong to! Much love! **


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities. Also, don't drink and drive.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14 - BPOV<strong>

_I watch with excitement as Jasper sets a warm bowl of bread pudding in front of me._

"_Here's your usual, darlin'."_

"_Thanks. I've been looking forward to this all week." The first bite melts in my mouth, and I don't even try to quieten the moan that escapes. "So damn good. Jasper, you must share the recipe with me."_

"_If it were up to me, I would, but you know my Allie… She's very protective of her creations, especially when they make her a lot of money. I bet she'd make an exception for you, though." _

_Jasper gives me a wink before walking back to the kitchen, whistling a happy tune._

"_I don't know how you can eat all those sweets, Bella. I guess that's why you're so sweet, huh?" JP smiles at me and grabs my empty hand because he knows better than to grab my spoon-hand. "How was your day?"_

_I finish my dessert before answering, trying to hold on to my sugar-induced joy for a moment longer._

"_It was fine. School was good, as usual, but my hours at work were cut back again for next week, which means another week of struggling to make ends meet. Maybe I should take a break from school. You know, work a year, save some money, then finish my degree. Doing both at the same time is getting really hard."_

"_You can't do that, B. You're so close to graduating; you only have a few semesters left. Soon, you'll be out of school and making your own money, but until then, let me take care of you."_

_JP's dark eyes are so earnest and full of love, and it kills me that I can't look at him in the same way. I've tried for so long, but I'm beginning to think it'll never happen._

"_You do take care of me, JP. You have for a long time. Sometimes I worry that I'm taking advantage of you."_

"_That's crazy. You're my girlfriend, and one of these days, you'll be my wife. Why wait until then to live together? Move in with me now, and that's one bill you won't have to worry about paying. As an added bonus, we'll start celebrating "Naked Sundays" like we always dream about. What do you say?"_

_I quickly grab my glass of water and take a drink, avoiding all eye contact with JP. It'd break his heart if he saw the panic in my eyes. I've obviously allowed this to go too far if he's really thinking about marriage. I can't marry JP, but I don't want to hurt him either._

_I have to tell him we can only be friends, but not tonight. Tonight, I want to enjoy his warmth, his smile, and his positivity. He'll want nothing to do with me after I break up with him, so I'll be selfish this one last time and try to enjoy our evening together._

* * *

><p>"Bella?"<p>

I look up to see Edward standing over me, eyes full of sadness and concern. Angrily, I wipe away the tears that have fallen. I'm not sure if I'm mad at the memory or the feelings I can't shake, but I'd give anything to be free of the guilt and grief that have consumed me for the past nine months. Technically, the guilt has been lingering longer.

"You wanna talk about it?"

I nod my head in response because I don't trust my voice not to break, and because I _want_ to tell him. He's slowly claiming my heart. He should know how it got in the condition it's in now. He may not want me after he hears what I have to say, but he deserves to know. I feel like he's opened up to me so much—telling me about his dad and his ex-girlfriend, who, by the way, I'd like to meet in a dark alley someday. But I feel like there's more for him to share. Maybe he's waiting on me…or maybe I've been waiting on him. Regardless, it's time, because the secrets are holding us back. At least, they're holding _me_ back.

My therapist tells me the truth will set you free. I hope he's right.

As Edward and I begin walking down the sidewalk, he tangles his fingers with mine. This has become my favorite thing about walking with Edward. He has no idea how just being close to him makes me feel. I've never felt this way about anyone…and here comes the flood of guilt again, so powerful, it almost knocks me over.

When we cross the street, I realize he's leading me to the park. It's probably only seven o'clock, but the sun has set. The park is dark except for the lightposts, which is probably a good thing, because I'm not sure I can make it through what I need to say without ugly-crying. This will be the first time I've said most of these things out loud, and that realization is freaking me out. Internally, I want to retreat. Forget everything I'm thinking. Go back to whatever this is we've been doing for the last few months.

A pseudo-relationship with Edward is better than no relationship at all.

His cool fingers brush along the side of my face, and the familiar tingle I get every time he touches me comes along with it.

"Tell me what's wrong." The tone in Edward's voice is pained, as if he can literally feel what's inside me. "I hate seeing you sad, and I've been worried about you ever since I kissed you the other night…I shouldn't have done that…or I should've asked first. I'm sorry, An-"

He stops himself, and his hands leave me and go straight to his hair. His expression shifts, and I wonder what he was about to say. It wasn't my name.

"Don't be sorry." I'm still confused about what he was getting ready to say, but the last thing I want is for him to feel guilty about Saturday, because that night was beautiful. Everything about our date was perfect and made me fall for him even more than I already had. "You didn't do anything wrong. The date, the kiss…it was… Well, it was one of the best nights I've had in a long time, if not ever." I pull my jacket tighter, trying to keep the chill out, while holding myself together. Leaning over on my knees, bracing myself, I begin.

"I don't even know where or how to start this, so it's probably going to come out a jumbled mess. Please, just let me say everything before you react or take off."

"I'm not going anywhere, Bella."

"You haven't heard what I have to say yet."

"You can't run me off."

I give him a weak smile, hoping he's right. "My dad, Charlie, is the police chief in the small town I'm from. He put a roof over my head, but that's about it. My mom never wanted kids, which is why she left when I was eight. Funny thing is I didn't even miss her after she was gone. She wasn't ever the 'bake cookies, curl up and read a book with you' kind of mom. She only ever cared about herself…_still _only cares about herself. My dad was raised by his dad, who was a widower, so he didn't have a nurturing bone in his body. In his defense, he did as well as he could, but he was a shitty parent…still_ is_ a shitty parent. From the age of eight, I made my own meals, got myself up and dressed in the morning, and put myself to bed at night. When I was fourteen, I got a job at the local diner. I worked there all through junior high and high school. I bought my own clothes, anything school related, and then eventually a $200 car."

Taking in a deep breath, I collect my thoughts and release a long exhale before continuing.

"The diner is also where I met JP. He was my best friend. He stood up for me when kids at school would bully me for not wearing the right clothes or when they would make fun of my family, or lack thereof. _He_ was my family. I spent every holiday and summer vacation at his house. When he decided to apply to Tulane, I applied to Tulane. I knew he was my only ticket out of the small town we're from, and truthfully, when I thought about living there without him, I wanted to kill myself. There was no way I was staying behind. So when we both got accepted and I was able to secure a little financial aid, I took the biggest leap of my life, loaded down my car, and left Texas for good. I used up all of my savings by my sophomore year. I didn't realize how tough it would be to make it without financial support from home. JP had his dad, Billy, and even though they weren't well off, they had enough. Plus, he had a college savings fund to dig into when he needed it. Occasionally, he would spot me cash, but I tried to always pay him back. The beginning of my junior year was when things got really hard. I was close to dropping out of college and saving up some money, but JP talked me out of it. He encouraged me, gave me options, just like he always did."

I pause, swallowing the enormous lump in my throat. "I always knew that he liked me as more than just a friend, and we tried to have a relationship. I don't think I've ever tried _so_ hard." I turn to look Edward in the face, begging him to understand, and I'm met with nothing but soft eyes and comfort. "I wanted to fall in love with him, and I felt like there was something wrong with me when I didn't. The guilt I felt was immense, and I was finally ready to tell him that it just wasn't working… I loved him, but I wasn't _in love_ with him. I needed him to know that…for my own conscience. He'd always been such an amazing friend to me. I felt like I was lying to him and holding him back from finding someone who could love him the way he deserved to be loved."

Fresh tears are pouring down my cheeks. When I think about JP, I miss him. I miss my confidant and protector. Most of all, I miss my friend. I might not have been in love with him, but he was the best thing that ever happened to me up to that point. I felt like I had been walking in the rain every day of my life until he walked in—very similar to how I feel about the man sitting beside me. But, unlike JP, I can see myself loving Edward…being in love with Edward. That epiphany hit me a couple of weeks ago, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I've watched dozens of sappy love stories and read about them in countless books, and everyone says that you'll know when you know…and I know.

"Did you tell him?" Edward asks.

"No. I never got the chance."

"What happened?"

This is the horrible part—the part I don't even know if I can talk about without breaking down and becoming an incoherent mess. But here goes nothing.

"I was meeting him for dinner."

"At the Crescent?"

"Yes," I tell him, recalling the day in my mind with such clarity. Sometimes, it feels like it was only a month or so ago, but other times it feels like years.

"And then what happened?" he asks, prompting me to continue.

"He never showed. I waited and waited…for almost two hours I sat in the booth at the café, just waiting, but he never came. About the time I was giving up, figuring he'd gotten tied up somewhere and forgot to call, my phone rang. It was the New Orleans Police Department asking me to come down to the station. At first, I thought he'd been in a fight or maybe gotten drunk on Bourbon Street…something…anything except for what they told me when I got there. _ Not that_. Not JP…that's what I kept saying over and over and over… Not JP… Not JP," I repeat, much the same way I did that night.

"What happened?"

"He was going through a stop light when a car ran through the intersection, coming the opposite direction. It hit him on the driver's side. He died at the scene."

"Oh, God. Bella."

"One of the police officers finally took my phone and called my friend Katie. I stayed in bed for three days, until she forced me out and drove me home for the funeral. That entire day is hazy. I couldn't look at anybody…or talk to anybody. Charlie didn't even try to console me. It was the worst day of my life. I think it was when Billy walked up to me and dropped a golden ring in my palm that I hit rock bottom. He said JP would've wanted me to have it. I passed out, literally. I remember Billy talking to me and the ring being placed in my hand, but that's it. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my room two days later."

"I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry." His voice is pure torture right now, and I hate that I'm burdening him with my past, but I don't know what else to do except keep going until I've told him everything.

"He was going to propose to me…and I was planning on breaking up with him. He didn't even know. I go to the café every Thursday to force myself to remember him and to try to feel something besides guilt."

"So, you're punishing yourself?"

"Wouldn't you?" I ask, my voice rising an octave. The grip on my emotions is slipping. "I was going to break up with him, Edward! And then he died! He died thinking I was in love with him, and I don't know if I'm supposed to be happy about that or hate myself for allowing us to live a lie! It's a horrible feeling. The worst part is that everyone who knew us as an _us_ thought we were in love… They didn't know. They all think I've been mourning my lost love for the last nine months. But I haven't been. I've been mourning the loss of my best friend and the lost opportunities to make things right and true. I didn't get to say goodbye or anything."

The sobs wrack my body, and Edward's strong arms wrap around me tightly. He pulls me onto his lap, holding me, allowing me to cry until I can't anymore…until my throat is raw and my eyes burn when I try to open them. The air is cold, and my body is shaking, and Edward takes his jacket off and tucks it around me.

As I lay my head on his chest, I can hear and feel his heart beating wildly.

"It's not your fault, Bella," he says, nearly choking on his words. "You didn't do anything wrong." Now he's shaking, and I don't know if it's because he's cold from giving up his jacket or something else. "Sometimes, the universe steps in and makes decisions for us, and we don't get a say. It…it sucks and it's not fair. I'm…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you lost your friend…and I'm sorry you've carried this guilt all on your own, but it's not your fault."

The words coming out of his mouth are similar to words other people have told me—my friend Katie, my therapist—but they sound different coming from him.

I want to believe him.

After we sit in silence for a few minutes, me trying to convince myself that what Edward said is true and him probably trying to process all the shit I dumped in his lap, he quietly asks, "Why don't we get you home?"

I nod and slowly stand up, unwrapping his jacket from my shoulders.

"No, you keep it. I'm fine," he says, helping me slide my arms into the sleeves.

As we begin to walk toward campus, Edward's hand slides into mine. With my free hand, I pull the jacket tighter around me and inhale. It smells like him—clean, spicy…manly. It soothes my frayed edges and calms my soul. It's like aromatherapy.

Edward seems to be deep in thought as we walk, but he never lets go of my hand…sometimes squeezing tighter or rubbing circles with his thumb.

When we arrive outside of my dorm, I don't want to let Edward go. I wish I lived somewhere I could invite him in, ask him to stay the night. Falling asleep in his arms would surely keep the bad dreams away.

"So, if you don't mind me asking..." Edward starts.

I shake my head no, encouraging him to continue. I'd rather get everything out in the open tonight, so we can move forward from here.

"When was the accident?"

"Valentine's Night," I tell him, realizing just how horrible the date alone makes it.

"This year?"

"Yes," I reply, but I can hardly focus on my answer, because Edward is now squeezing my hand, and it looks as though the color has drained from his face. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine." He drops my hand and leans in to place a kiss on my cheek. "I just…I've gotta go."

"Text me when you get home?"

"Sure. Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, Edward."

This is the first time I've seen him walk away. Normally, when I step into the elevator, I can still see him watching me from outside the building. But not tonight. He walks hastily, and I'm now the one waiting until I can't see him any longer…until he eventually fades into the black of the night. A weird feeling in the pit of my stomach begins to grow, but I wrap myself up in the jacket Edward left behind and try to ignore it.

I hope he's not too cold on the way home.

I hope he texts me when he gets there.

I hope I didn't ruin everything.

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><p><strong>ANs:**

**Jenny Kate: *tiptoes out***

**Jiff: *twiddles thumbs* *whistles* *avoids eye contact***

**Jenny Kate: *passes shot of Patron* *looks around* What? It's Friday and I'm sure it's 5:00 somewhere.**

**Jiff: Soooo…how's everyone doing? Did we answer some of your questions? Did you like our answers? LOL**

**Jenny Kate: If you still have questions regarding their pasts, the next chapter will/should answer those. Is everyone still with us?**

**Jiff: *crosses fingers***

**Jenny Kate: We're so thankful for everyone who's reading this story! We apologize for being behind on review replies, but know that we read and love every single one of them. We'll try to catch up this week.**

**Jiff: The reviews have been amazing and we're so thankful. JK and I are constantly posting screencaps of reviews with smiley faces to each other on Whatsapp!**

**Jenny Kate: Yes! You guys make us smile so big. It's ridiculous! Last, but definitely not least, we'd like to thank Team JiffyKate: Geeky, Lynsey, Amy, and Katie! We'd be lost without them!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: ****We don't own Twilight or any other identifiable entities. Also, don't drink and drive.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

"_Slow down, fucker. You crash my car, I'm gonna beat your ass." The slur of my words is softening the blow, but I mean every one of them. If Ethan puts even a tiny scratch on the Impala, it's on like Donkey Kong._

"_What are you laughing at, E?"_

"_Donkey Kong," I tell him, as if it should make perfect sense._

"_Oh, man. That game is the best!" _

_See, that's why Ethan is my friend. He gets me._

_I hold up my palm, but when he moves to return my high-five, the entire car swerves, causing him to grab on to the steering wheel with both hands while I hold on to the "oh-shit" handle for dear life._

"_Dammit, Ethan," I yell as passing cars honk at us._

"_Sorry, man. I didn't think I was this fucked up. I'm good now, though." He slows down at a red light and lets out a deep breath. "Nothing like nearly slamming into a parked car to sober you up, right?"_

_The sound of tires screeching and metal crunching catches my attention, and I look over Ethan's shoulder just in time to see another car coming straight for us. There's no bracing for impact, no time to prepare. The words "Oh, God" barely leave my mouth before the collision. Glass explodes around me as my head slams into the windshield. The loud horn blaring keeps me alert long enough to register that something very bad has happened, but too soon, the bright flashing lights overwhelm, and my brain does what it can to protect itself: it shuts down._

My own screams pull me from my restless sleep, while my body is tangled in my bed sheets and covered in sweat.

_No._

_No._

_It can't be._

_It can't be the same._

_It's not possible._

I close my eyes and try to remember more, but my brain is at war with itself. One part is struggling to remember, to free the last of my memories, while the other part is pushing back just as hard to keep me ignorant and protected. To be honest, I don't know which part I want to win. For a while, I've wanted to remember and get the pain over and done with, but it's obviously not going to be that easy. And _no one_ could've expected this…for me and Bella—my _Ania_—to be connected on this kind of level.

_I immediately recognize the sight, sounds, and smells of the hospital, and for a moment, I assume I'm here to visit my dad, but no. This time, I'm the patient. In between my mother's and sister's cries, I hear words like "trauma", "brain injury", and "wait and see"._

This time, my stomach wakes me, and I hurry to my bathroom to empty its contents. After cleaning myself up, I slip on my shoes and head to Rose and Emmett's house. It's barely six o'clock in the morning, but I need answers. _Now._

I let myself in through the back door and walk into the kitchen. If I'm going to wake my family up this early, the least I can do is make them coffee. Soon I hear the sound of shuffling feet, and when I see the sleepy faces of my sister and brother-in-law, I feel guilty for doing this to them. But I'm too impatient for answers to turn back now.

When Rose sees me, her steps quicken until she's right in front of me, completely alert.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" She's demanding but still gentle, with her hands gripping my arms.

"I'm ready to talk about the accident."

Rose turns to Emmett and points to the stove. "You start the bacon, and I'll call Mom."

Considering we have a lot to talk about, the four of us are very quiet as we eat our breakfast. It's as if we're carbo-loading, preparing for battle. To be honest, I don't know what to expect. I have so many questions, but I also have to deal with the answers I'm given. I don't know which one I'm dreading more.

The dirty dishes are left in the sink as we each refill our coffee cups and walk to the living room. I watch as the people I love most in this world—my family—sit on the couch in front of me, patiently waiting for me to begin. I know I owe them so much. I'm about to learn exactly _how_ much, though.

"Edward, son, what's brought this on all of a sudden?" my mom asks.

"I've been having flashbacks—memories—leading up to what happened to me. They started shortly after I started spending time with Bella."

"Who's Bella?"

"She's my new…friend. We met at the café."

My mom's eyes flash over to my sister, and they share a subdued smile, but I can see the excitement all over their faces. I want to share in their happiness, but I'm not sure if it's possible right now.

"Anyway, these flashbacks have been about things I'd never remembered before…things about Ethan and…Lauren."

At the sound of my ex's name, Rose starts grumbling under her breath.

"Last night I remembered what happened... the wreck... but only parts of being in the hospital afterward. Can y'all help fill in the blanks?"

My mother immediately starts wringing her hands and taking deep breaths, making me realize this is still traumatic for her.

"Mom, if it's too hard, we can wait—"

"No," she stresses. "If you're ready, then it's time. I'll be fine." She steadies her breathing and continues. "You and Ethan were in a car accident. You'd both been drinking a lot, but that's not what caused the wreck. In fact, strangely enough, it probably saved your life."

My eyebrows draw together at her odd statement while my Emmett explains.

"You know how statistics show most drunk drivers survive when they're involved in a crash because their bodies are so...for a lack of a better word...loosened up by the alcohol? Well, you and your buddy supported those numbers. You were both inebriated and you didn't have time to tense up or react before you were hit. Fortunately for you, but unfortunately for another guy, the driver that hit you crashed into another car first. It slowed his car a bit, but he still had enough speed to slam into the Impala, throwing you into the windshield because you two idiots weren't wearing seatbelts."

My stomach flips at the mention of _another guy_.

JP. Bella's boyfriend. I know it's him, but I need them to confirm it for me.

A cold sweat trickles down my back, and I close my eyes tightly, willing the nausea away. Slowly, I lower myself to the floor, and when I feel able to hold my shit together, I look back up at my family.

"Was I in a coma?"

This time, Rose speaks. "Yeah, for about a week. You had a mild brain injury, but other than that, you were fine. It's a miracle, really," she says brightly.

I rub the scar on my forehead and laugh, but there's no humor in my tone.

"Sure. A miracle. You used the wrong tense there, Rose. It's not 'had'. It's 'have'. I _have_ a brain injury."

"But you're getting better every day. I see changes in you all the time, especially now that you're working and have met Bella."

At this, I stand up, ready to run.

"Ha! Bella won't be around much longer."

"Why do you say that?" my mom asks.

"The first guy that was hit. Did . . . D-did he die?"

Rose nods. "He was killed instantly."

"What was his name?"

"Jacob Paul Black. I'll never forget his name or the sacrifice he unknowingly made that saved your life." My mama's voice quivers, and I'm done.

_I can't do this._

I stumble out the back door and run straight to the garage. My hands are shaking as I touch the cloth covering the car.

I haven't looked at it since the night of the wreck. I couldn't. Too many memories and the thought of seeing it banged up has kept me away these last nine months. But now I have to see it.

In one hard pull, the cloth is on the ground. I know it looks better now than it did after the wreck, but it's still not perfect. Emmett has done his best to fix it up even though his time has been limited and he's had no one to help him. It has a new windshield, and it's cleaned up, but the bumper is still hanging on by a piece of wire, and the side mirror is missing. The passenger side door and fender have been replaced but still need to be painted. It pains me to see it this way, and not just because of how it got like this . . . It's more than that. This was my baby. It was a piece of my dad and a piece of me . . . and even a piece of Emmett. It means the world to me. I know Emmett thought that by mending it, it would help me...mend me—make things better or normal—but for some reason, it pisses me off. It's another reminder of how I've failed.

Hurt, anger, and guilt course through me, and if I don't let it out, I'll explode.

I frantically search the garage for what I want, finally finding my old baseball bat.

I don't think. I don't question. I don't even feel. I just let go.

Deep down, there is a small voice telling me to stop . . . telling me that I'll regret this later, but I tell it to shut the hell up, and I keep going. I can't stop. I don't want to. I need this. Every swing, hit, scratch, and dent I make is like a drop of holy water on my forehead, absolving me of my sins.

My arms are sweaty and straining from exertion, but I still don't stop. I hit the car for myself, my family, and my past . . . for Ethan, Bella, and JP. I let it all fucking out.

Eventually, strong arms wrap around me from behind, causing my motions to stop and the bat to slip from my fingers.

Emmett pulls me to the floor and lets me cry, encouraging me to "get it all out." His heavy hand on my shoulder makes me stay put, but truthfully, I don't have the energy to go anywhere or do anything more. I can't fight him. I'm spent, and my throat is raw.

When I finally feel ready to move, I lift my head and assess the damage.

"Holy shit, Em. I'm so fucking sorry," I whisper.

"Don't. Don't you dare apologize to me. Cars can be fixed, Edward. I'm more concerned about you than the Impala."

"I don't know if I can be fixed," I admit, hanging my head between my knees. Looking back up at the car, I'm hit with a wave of nausea. I don't know if it's the result of the adrenaline that was pushing through my veins or the reality of what I now know.

"Fuck that, bro. You don't need fixing. You need to cut yourself some slack. I've never seen anyone work as hard as you have since the wreck. You learned some major shit today, and you dealt with it. Now, what are you going to do to move forward?"

"There's more to deal with, Emmett."

He watches me expectantly, waiting for me to explain.

"The guy that was killed...his nickname was JP. He was Bella's boyfriend."

Emmett exhales sharply before cussing under his breath.

"How can I tell her the truth?" I ask. The question is for myself as much as it's for Emmett. In this moment, I wish I was someone else—someone who deserves Bella and could make her happy. "She'll never want to see me again."

"Why do you think that?"

"He was going to propose that night, but she was planning on breaking up with him. She feels incredible guilt over that. The reason she sits at the café every damn Thursday is to punish herself." I let out another sob and wipe my snot on my sleeve because it's just Emmett, and he's seen me at my worst. "Sh-she has no one in her life now, other than her roommate, and when she finally allows herself to open up to someone new, he just happens to have been involved in the same wreck that took her best friend? How could anyone overcome that?" I look up at him, begging for him to tell me that she can...that she will. Something to give me hope that it's not all over.

"You have to tell her, E. Then, you have to let her decide for herself how she wants to handle it. Don't take that decision away from her."

I nod, knowing he's right. Of course I have to tell her, but when and how...I have no idea. "Right now, I'm too worn out to do anything." I slowly stand up and dust myself off, looking over at the Impala and feeling a lot like it looks...broken, shattered, and beat to hell. "Thanks, Em. For everything. I don't know what I would've done without you."

He gives me a mock punch in my shoulder before saying, "Don't mention it, man. You'd do the same for me."

I nod my agreement and leave the garage. I hear Emmett behind me, kicking some shit out of the way, and the guilt settles heavy in my gut. I feel bad for losing it and for leaving Rose and my mom the way I did. I know they're hurting too. I'm not the only one who was hurt, but I know they'll understand.

In my room, I fall back into bed, hoping for dreamless sleep.

My eyelids are scratchy, my throat is still sore, and I can't quit thinking that I must have done something really bad in a former life. I never believed in any of that shit, but it's the only explanation for why everything in my life seems to get fucked up. First my dad dies. The person I confided in, depended on, and trusted most in this world left me. Then, when I couldn't deal with that, I was forced to give up football—the thing that grounded me and gave me purpose . . . what I loved. And, as if that weren't enough, on a drunken Valentine's night, after breaking it to my girlfriend that I was, in fact, _not_ proposing, Ethan and I were in an accident. Fortunately, it wasn't our fault, but it left me with scars, physical and mental, that I'll have for the rest of my life. And just when I thought I was coming to terms with all of that and had finally found my place in the world again, it just so happens that the wreck I was in killed Bella's best friend . . . _my Ania_ . . . the girl I love. How am I ever going to tell her that? She'll hate me.

_I can't. _

_I can't do that. _

_I can't hurt her like that._

I can't open up that fresh wound and pour salt on it. I'll just have to disappear, lose her number . . . quit my job . . . something. I'd rather live without her than hurt her. She means too much to me.

I reach up and rub my chest, because it hurts to think about never seeing her again.

Eventually my mind shuts down enough that I fall asleep, but it's not peaceful. The dreams are filled with sounds of scraping metal and smells of gasoline and burnt rubber. There are bright lights and screams . . . those might have come from me. When I wake, my pulse is racing and I feel sick again. After splashing my face with water, I take a look at myself in the mirror. I wish I had dreamed all of that shit up, but the fresh cut above my eye proves it was all real . . . the truth, the car, JP, Bella . . . all of it. I pop two sleeping pills that are left in my bathroom cabinet and wash them down with water from the faucet.

At some point, the alerts from my phone wake me up. I look at the clock; it's after twelve, but I'm assuming it's twelve midnight, because I can't even see a sliver of light from the window. I'm pretty sure I slept through Friday and Saturday. I vaguely remember hearing voices outside my door accompanied by some persistent knocks, but they went away. I look at my phone and notice that it's about to go dead. There are several missed calls from Bella, a text also from her asking if I made it home safely, and then another one saying she's worried about me. I almost reply back and tell her I'm fine, but that's a lie. So I toss the phone down on the floor and roll over in my bed.

I lie in the dark for countless hours, playing over in my mind the different scenarios that could happen if I tell Bella about the wreck, but all of them end with her never wanting to see me again. Nowhere in my brain can I find a reason why she'd want to continue her relationship with me. I know Emmett said that I should give her the choice—tell her and let her make her own decision—but it feels like this is a situation where not knowing is better than knowing.

The bottom line is I don't want to hurt her.

_I can't._

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><p><strong>ANs: **

**Jiff**: So, now you know what happened…

**Jenny Kate:** Yep, the facts are all out there. So, now what?

**Jiff**: Is everyone breathing? Are you pissed at Edward for not answering Bella's text? How would you react if you were Bella?

**Jenny Kate:** We'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Whether you're bitching at us or you need a shoulder to cry on, we're here for you! We also keep a supply of Patron, if shots are more your style.

**Jiff:** You can always count on us, especially when booze is involved.

**Jenny Kate:** We're keeping these short and sweet tonight, so we can post this chapter a little early. There are a couple people on Facebook *achem*AnnieAndMaple*achem* who are a leetle impatient. ;) And, we love them for it. We also love our Team JiffyKate girls: Geeky, Lynzey, Katie, and Amy! We couldn't do this without y'all!

See y'all next Friday!


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